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THE   COLONEL'S   DREAM 


OTHER  BOOKS  BY 

CHARLES  W.  CHESNUTT 

"The  Conjure  Woman " 

"  The  Wife  of  His  Youth  and  Other  Stories  " 

"  Life  of  Frederick  Douglas," 

in  Beacon  Biographies 

"The  House  Behind  the  Cedars" 

"  The  Marrow  of  Tradition  " 

The 

Colonel's  Dream 


By 

CHARLES  W.  CHESNUTT 


New  York 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

1905 


Copyright,  1905,  by 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 

Published,  September,  1905 


All  rights  reserved,  including  that 
of  translation  into  foreign  languages, 
including    the    Scandinavian 


DEDICATION 

To  the  great  number  of  those  who  are  seeking,  in  what- 
ever manner  or  degree,  from  near  at  hand  or  far  away, 
to  bring  the  forces  of  enlightenment  to  bear  upon  the 
vexed  problems  which  harass  the  South,  this  volume  is 
inscribed,  with  the  hope  that  it  may  contribute  to  the 
same  good  end. 

If  there  be  nothing  new  between  its  covers,  neither  is 
love  new,  nor  faith,  nor  hope,  nor  disappointment,  nor 
sorrow.  Yet  life  is  not  the  less  worth  living  because  of 
any  of  these,  nor  has  any  man  truly  lived  until  he  has 
tasted  of  them  all. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/colonelsdreamOOches 


CONTENTS 


Chapter          I 3 

Chapter         II 15 

Chapter        III 20 

Chapter         IV 31 

Chapter          V 39 

Chapter        VI 45 

Chapter      VII 57 

Chapter     VIII 62 

Chapter        IX 71 

Chapter         X 86 

Chapter        XI 91 

Chapter      XII 104 

Chapter    XIII  ........  108 

Chapter     XIV 121 

Chapter       XV 132 

Chapter     XVI 143 

Chapter   XVII 151 

Chapter  XVIII 155 

Chapter     XIX 168 

Chapter      XX 179 

Chapter     XXI 190 

Chapter  XXII 196 

Chapter  XXIII 202 

vu 


VIII 


CONTENTS— Continued 


frAGfc 

Chapter       XXIV 208 

Chapter         XXV 215 

Chapter        XXVI 220 

Chapter      XXVII 228 

Chapter     XXVIII 233 

Chapter        XXIX  .        .        ...        .        .  241 

Chapter         XXX  ........  250 

Chapter       XXXI 255 

Chapter      XXXII 260 

Chapter    XXXIII 267 

Chapter     XXXIV 270 

Chapter       XXXV  .......  272 

Chapter     XXXVI 276 

Chapter  XXXVII 283 

Chapter  XXXVIII 287 

Chapter    XXXIX 290 


LIST  OF   CHARACTERS 


his  former  partners 


Colonel  Henry  French,  a  retired  merchant 

Mr.  Kirby, 

Mrs.  Jerviss, 

Philip  French,  the  colonel's  son 

Peter  French,  his  old  servant 

Mrs.  Treadwell,  an  old  lady 

Miss  Clara  Treadwell,  her  daughter 

Graciella  Treadwell,  her  granddaughter 

Malcolm  Dudley,  a  treasure-seeker 

Ben  Dudley,  his  nephew 

Viney,  his  housekeeper 

William  Fetters,  a  convict  labour  contractor 

Barclay  Fetters,  his  son 

Bud  Johnson,  a  convict  labourer 

Caroline,  his  wife 

Henry  Taylor,  a  Negro  schoolmaster 

William  Nichols,  a  mulatto  barber 

Haynes,  a  constable 


THE   COLONEL'S   DREAM 


CHAPTER  I 

TWO  gentlemen  were  seated,  one  March  morning  in 
189 — ,  in  the  private  office  of  French  and  Com- 
pany, Limited,  on  lower  Broadway.  Mr.  Kirby, 
the  junior  partner — a  man  of  thirty-five,  with  brown  hair 
and  mustache,  clean-cut,  handsome  features,  and  an  alert 
manner,  was  smoking  cigarettes  almost  as  fast  as  he  could 
roll  them,  and  at  the  same  time  watching  the  electric  clock 
upon  the  wall  and  getting  up  now  and  then  to  stride  rest- 
lessly back  and  forth  across  the  room. 

Mr.  French,  the  senior  partner,  who  sat  opposite  Kirby, 
was  an  older  man — a  safe  guess  would  have  placed  him 
somewhere  in  the  debatable  ground  between  forty  and 
fifty;  of  a  good  height,  as  could  be  seen  even  from  the 
seated  figure,  the  upper  part  of  which  was  held  erect  with 
the  unconscious  ease  which  one  associates  with  military 
training.  His  closely  cropped  brown  hair  had  the  slightest 
touch  of  gray.  The  spacious  forehead,  deep-set  gray  eyes, 
and  firm  chin,  scarcely  concealed  by  a  light  beard,  marked 
the  thoughtful  man  of  affairs.  His  face  indeed  might  have 
seemed  austere,  but  for  a  sensitive  mouth,  which  suggested 
a  reserve  of  humour  and  a  capacity  for  deep  feeling.  A 
man  of  well-balanced  character,  one  would  have  said,  not 
apt  to  undertake  anything  lightly,  but  sure  to  go  far  in 
whatever  he  took  in  hand;  quickly  responsive  to  a  generous 
impulse,  and  capable  of  a  righteous  indignation;  a  good 
friend,  a  dangerous  enemy;  more  likely  to  be  misled  by 
the  heart  than  by  the  head;  of  the  salt  of  the  earth,  which 
gives  it  savour. 

3 


4  THE    COLONEL'S   DREAM 

Mr.  French  sat  on  one  side,  Mr.  Kirby  on  the  other,  of 
a  handsome,  broad-topped  mahogany  desk,  equipped  with 
telephones  and  push  buttons,  and  piled  with  papers, 
account  books  and  letter  files  in  orderly  array.  In  marked 
contrast  to  his  partner's  nervousness,  Mr.  French  scarcely 
moved  a  muscle,  except  now  and  then  to  take  the  cigar 
from  his  lips  and  knock  the  ashes  from  the  end. 

"Nine  fifty!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Kirby,  comparing  the 
clock  with  his  watch.     "Only  ten  minutes  more." 

Mr.  French  nodded  mechanically.  Outside,  in  the 
main  office,  the  same  air  of  tense  expectancy  prevailed. 
For  two  weeks  the  office  force  had  been  busily  at  work, 
preparing  inventories  and  balance  sheets.  The  firm  of 
French  and  Company,  Limited,  manufacturers  of  crashes 
and  burlaps  and  kindred  stuffs,  with  extensive  mills  in 
Connecticut,  and  central  offices  in  New  York,  having  for 
a  long  time  resisted  the  siren  voice  of  the  promoter,  had 
finally  faced  the  alternative  of  selling  out,  at  a  sacrifice,  to 
the  recently  organised  bagging  trust,  or  of  meeting  a  disas- 
trous competition.  Expecting  to  yield  in  the  end,  they 
had  fought  for  position — with  brilliant  results.  Negotia- 
tions for  a  sale,  upon  terms  highly  favourable  to  the  firm, 
had  been  in  progress  for  several  weeks ;  and  the  two  part- 
ners were  awaiting,  in  their  private  office,  the  final  word. 
Should  the  sale  be  completed,  they  were  richer  men  than 
they  could  have  hoped  to  be  after  ten  years  more  of 
business  stress  and  struggle;  should  it  fail,  they  were 
heavy  losers,  for  their  fight  had  been  expensive.  They 
were  in  much  the  same  position  as  the  player  who  had 
staked  the  bulk  of  his  fortune  on  the  cast  of  a  die.  Not 
meaning  to  risk  so  much,  they  had  been  drawn  into  it; 
but  the  game  was  worth  the  candle. 

"Nine  fifty-five,"  said  Kirby.     "Five  minutes  more!" 

He  strode  over  to  the  window  and  looked  out.    It  was 


THE   COLONEL'S   DREAM  5 

snowing,  and  the  March  wind,  blowing  straight  up  Broad- 
way from  the  bay,  swept  the  white  flakes  northward  in 
long,  feathery  swirls.  Mr.  French  preserved  his  rigid 
attitude,  though  a  close  observer  might  have  wondered 
whether  it  was  quite  natural,  or  merely  the  result  of  a 
supreme  effort  of  will. 

Work  had  been  practically  suspended  in  the  outer  office. 
The  clerks  were  also  watching  the  clock.  Every  one  of 
them  knew  that  the  board  of  directors  of  the  bagging  trust 
was  in  session,  and  that  at  ten  o'clock  it  was  to  report  the 
result  of  its  action  on  the  proposition  of  French  and  Com- 
pany, Limited.  The  clerks  were  not  especially  cheerful; 
the  impending  change  meant  for  them,  at  best,  a  change 
of  masters,  and  for  many  of  them,  the  loss  of  employment. 
The  firm,  for  relinquishing  its  business  and  good  will, 
would  receive  liberal  compensation;  the  clerks,  for  their 
skill,  experience,  and  prospects  of  advancement,  would 
receive  their  discharge.  What  else  could  be  expected? 
The  principal  reason  for  the  trust's  existence  was  economy 
of  administration;  this  was  stated,  most  convincingly,  in 
the  prospectus.  There  was  no  suggestion,  in  that  model 
document,  that  competition  would  be  crushed,  or  that, 
monopoly  once  established,  labour  must  sweat  and  the 
public  groan  in  order  that  a  few  captains,  or  chevaliers, 
of  industry,  might  double  their  dividends.  Mr.  French 
may  have  known  it,  or  guessed  it,  but  he  was  between 
the  devil  and  the  deep  sea — a  victim  rather  than  an  acces- 
sory— he  must  take  what  he  could  get,  or  lose  what  he 
had. 

"Nine  fifty-nine!" 

Kirby,  as  he  breathed  rather  than  spoke  the  words, 
threw  away  his  scarcely  lighted  cigarette,  and  gripped  the 
arms  of  his  chair  spasmodically.  His  partner's  attitude 
had  not  varied  by  a  hair's  breadth ;  except  for  the  scarcely 


6  THE   COLONEL'S    DREAM 

perceptible  rise  and  fall  of  his  chest  he  might  have  been  a 
wax  figure.  The  pallor  of  his  countenance  would  have 
strengthened  the  illusion. 

Kirby  pushed  his  chair  back  and  sprung  to  his  feet. 
The  clock  marked  the  hour,  but  nothing  happened.  Kirby 
was  wont  to  say,  thereafter,  that  the  ten  minutes  that  fol- 
lowed were  the  longest  day  of  his  life.  But  everything 
must  have  an  end,  and  their  suspense  was  terminated  by  a 
telephone  call.  Mr.  French  took  down  the  receiver  and 
placed  it  to  his  ear. 

""It's  all  right,"  he  announced,  looking  toward  his  part- 
ner. "Our  figures  accepted — resolution  adopted — settle- 
ment to-morrow.     We  are " 

The  receiver  fell  upon  the  table  with  a  crash.  Mr. 
French  toppled  over,  and  before  Kirby  had  scarcely 
realised  that  something  was  the  matter,  had  sunk  uncon- 
scious to  the  floor,  which,  fortunately,  was  thickly  carpeted. 

It  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment  for  Kirby  to  loosen 
his  partner's  collar,  reach  into  the  recesses  of  a  certain 
drawer  in  the  big  desk,  draw  out  a  flask  of  brandy,  and 
pour  a  small  quantity  of  the  burning  liquid  down  the 
unconscious  man's  throat.  A  push  on  one  of  the  electric 
buttons  summoned  a  clerk,  with  whose  aid  Mr.  French 
was  lifted  to  a  leather-covered  couch  that  stood  against 
the  wall.  Almost  at  once  the  effect  of  the  stimulant  was 
apparent,  and  he  opened  his  eyes. 

"I  suspect,"  he  said,  with  a  feeble  attempt  at  a  smile, 
"that  I  must  have  fainted — like  a  woman — perfectly 
ridiculous." 

"Perfectly  natural,"  replied  his  partner.  "You  have 
scarcely  slept  for  two  weeks — between  the  business  and 
Phil — and  you've  reached  the  end  of  your  string.  But 
it's  all  over  now,  except  the  shouting,  and  you  can  sleep  a 
week  if  you  like.     You'd  better  go  right  up  home.     I'll 


THE   COLONEL'S   DREAM  7 

send  for  a  cab,  and  call  Dr.  Moffatt,  and  ask  him  to  be  at 
the  hotel  by  the  time  you  reach  it.  I'll  take  care  of  things 
here  to-day,  and  after  a  good  sleep  you'll  find  yourself  all 
right  again." 

"Very  well,  Kirby,"  replied  Mr.  French,  "I  feel  as 
weak  as  water,  but  I'm  all  here.  It  might  have  been 
much  worse.  You'll  call  up  Mrs.  Jerviss,  of  course,  and 
let  her  know  about  the  sale  ?" 

When  Mr.  French,  escorted  to  the  cab  by  his  partner, 
and  accompanied  by  a  clerk,  had  left  for  home,  Kirby 
rang  up  the  doctor,  and  requested  him  to  look  after  Mr. 
French  immediately.  He  then  called  for  another  num- 
ber, and  after  the  usual  delay,  first  because  the  exchange 
girl  was  busy,  and  then  because  the  line  was  busy,  found 
himself  in  communication  with  the  lady  for  whom  he  had 
asked. 

"It's  all  right,  Mrs.  Jerviss,"  he  announced  without 
preliminaries.  "Our  terms  accepted,  and  payment  to  be 
made,  in  cash  and  bonds,  as  soon  as  the  papers  are  exe- 
cuted, when  you  will  be  twice  as  rich  as  you  are  to-day." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Kirby!  And  I  suppose  I  shall  never 
have  another  happy  moment  until  I  know  what  to  do  with 
it.     Money  is  a  great  trial.     I  often  envy  the  poor." 

Kirby  smiled  grimly.  She  little  knew  how  near  she 
had  been  to  ruin.  The  active  partners  had  mercifully 
shielded  her,  as  far  as  possible,  from  the  knowledge  of  their 
common  danger.  If  the  worst  happened,  she  must  know, 
of  course;  if  not,  then,  being  a  woman  whom  they  both 
liked — she  would  be  spared  needless  anxiety.  How  closely 
they  had  skirted  the  edge  of  disaster  she  did  not  learn  until 
afterward;  indeed,  Kirby  himself  had  scarcely  appreciated 
the  true  situation,  and  even  the  senior  partner,  since  he 
had  not  been  present  at  the  meeting  of  the  trust  managers, 
could  not  know  what  had  been  in  their  minds. 


8  THE   COLONEL'S   DREAM 

But  Kirby's  voice  gave  no  hint  of  these  reflections.  He 
laughed  a  cheerful  laugh.  "If  the  world  only  knew/'  he 
rejoined,  "it  would  cease  to  worry  about  the  pains  of 
poverty,  and  weep  for  the  woes  of  wealth." 

"Indeed  it  would!"  she  replied,  with  a  seriousness  which 
seemed  almost  sincere.  "Is  Mr.  French  there ?  I  wish 
to  thank  him,  too." 

"No,  he  has  just  gone  home." 

"At  this  hour?"  she  exclaimed,  "and  at  such  a  time? 
What  can  be  the  matter  ?     Is  Phil  worse  ?  " 

"No,  I  think  not.  Mr.  French  himself  had  a  bad  turn, 
for  a  few  minutes,  after  we  learned  the  news." 

Faces  are  not  yet  visible  over  the  telephone,  and  Kirby 
could  not  see  that  for  a  moment  the  lady's  grew  white. 
But  when  she  spoke  again  the  note  of  concern  in  her  voice 
was  very  evident. 

"It  was  nothing — serious?" 

"Oh,  no,  not  at  all,  merely  overwork,  and  lack  of 
sleep,  and  the  suspense — and  the  reaction.  He  recovered 
almost  immediately,  and  one  of  the  clerks  went  home 
with  him." 

"Has  Dr.  Moffatt  been  notified?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  I  called  him  up  at  once;  he'll  be  at  the  Mercedes 
by  the  time  the  patient  arrives." 

There  was  a  little  further  conversation  on  matters  of 
business,  and  Kirby  would  willingly  have  prolonged  it, 
but  his  news  about  Mr.  French  had  plainly  disturbed  the 
lady's  equanimity,  and  Kirby  rang  off,  after  arranging  to 
call  to  see  her  in  person  after  business  hours. 

Mr.  Kirby  hung  up  the  receiver  with  something  of  a 
sigh. 

"A  fine  woman,"  he  murmured,  "I  could  envy  French 
his  chances,  though  he  doesn't  seem  to  see  them — that 
is,  if  I  were  capable  of  envy  toward  so  fine  a  fellow 


THE    COLONEL'S    DREAM  9 

and  so  good  a  friend.  It's  curious  how  clear-sighted 
a  man  can  be  in  some  directions,  and  how  blind  in 
others." 

Mr.  French  lived  at  the  Mercedes,  an  uptown  apart- 
ment hotel  overlooking  Central  Park.  He  had  scarcely 
reached  his  apartment,  when  the  doctor  arrived — a  tall, 
fair,  fat  practitioner,  and  one  of  the  best  in  New  York;  a 
gentleman  as  well,  and  a  friend  of  Mr.  French. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  after  a  brief  examination, 
"you've  been  burning  the  candle  at  both  ends,  which,  at 
your  age  won't  do  at  all.  No,  indeed!  No,  indeed! 
You've  always  worked  too  hard,  and  you've  been  worrying 
too  much  about  the  boy,  who'll  do  very  well  now,  with  care. 
You've  got  to  take  a  rest — it's  all  you  need.  You  confess  to 
no  bad  habits,  and  show  the  signs  of  none;  and  you  have  a 
fine  constitution.  I'm  going  to  order  you  and  Phil  away 
for  three  months,  to  some  mild  climate,  where  you'll  be 
free  from  business  cares  and  where  the  boy  can  grow  strong 
without  having  to  fight  a  raw  Eastern  spring.  You  might 
try  the  Riviera,  but  I'm  afraid  the  sea  would  be  too  much 
for  Phil  just  yet;  or  southern  California — but  the  trip  is 
tiresome.  The  South  is  nearer  at  hand.  There's  Palm 
Beach,  or  Jekyll  Island,  or  Thomasville,  Asheville,  or 
Aiken — somewhere  down  in  the  pine  country.  It  will  be 
just  the  thing  for  the  boy's  lungs,  and  just  the  place  for  you 
to  rest.  Start  within  a  week,  if  you  can  get  away.  In 
fact,  you've  got  to  get  away." 

Mr.  French  was  too  weak  to  resist — both  body  and  mind 
seemed  strangely  relaxed — and  there  was  really  no  reason 
why  he  should  not  go.  His  work  was  done.  Kirby  could 
attend  to  the  formal  transfer  of  the  business.  He  would 
take  a  long  journey  to  some  pleasant,  quiet  spot,  where  he 
and  Phil  could  sleep,  and  dream  and  ride  and  drive  and 
grow  strong,  and  enjoy  themselves.     For  the  moment  he 


10  THE   COLONEL'S    DREAM 

felt  as  though  he  would  never  care  to  do  any  more  work, 
nor  would  he  need  to,  for  he  was  rich  enough.  He  would 
live  for  the  boy.  Phil's  education,  his  health,  his  happiness, 
his  establishment  in  life — these  would  furnish  occupation 
enough  for  his  well-earned  retirement. 

It  was  a  golden  moment.  He  had  won  a  notable 
victory  against  greed  and  craft  and  highly  trained  intelli- 
gence. And  yet,  a  year  later,  he  was  to  recall  this  recent 
past  with  envy  and  regret;  for  in  the  meantime  he  was  to 
fight  another  battle  against  the  same  forces,  and  others 
quite  as  deeply  rooted  in  human  nature.  But  he  was  to 
fight  upon  a  new  field,  and  with  different  weapons,  and 
with  results  which  could  not  be  foreseen. 

But  no  premonition  of  impending  struggle  disturbed 
Mr.  French's  pleasant  reverie;  it  was  broken  in  a  much 
more  agreeable  manner  by  the  arrival  of  a  visitor,  who 
was  admitted  by  Judson,  Mr.  French's  man.  The  visitor 
was  a  handsome,  clear-eyed,  fair-haired  woman,  of  thirty 
or  thereabouts,  accompanied  by  another  and  a  plainer 
woman,  evidently  a  maid  or  companion.  The  lady  was 
dressed  with  the  most  expensive  simplicity,  and  her  grace- 
ful movements  were  attended  by  the  rustle  of  unseen  silks. 
In  passing  her  upon  the  street,  any  man  under  ninety 
would  have  looked  at  her  three  times,  the  first  glance 
instinctively  recognising  an  attractive  woman,  the  second 
ranking  her  as  a  lady;  while  the  third,  had  there  been 
time  and  opportunity,  would  have  been  the  long,  lingering 
look  of  respectful  or  regretful  admiration. 

"How  is  Mr.  French,  Judson?"  she  inquired,  without 
dissembling  her  anxiety. 

"He's  much  better,  Mrs.  Jerviss,  thank  you,  ma'am." 
"I'm  very  glad  to  hear  it;  and  how  is  Phil  ?" 
"Quite  bright,  ma'am,  you'd  hardly  know  that  he'd 
been  sick.     He's  gaining  strength  rapidly;    he  sleeps  a 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  11 

great  deal;  he's  asleep  now,  ma'am.  But,  won't  you 
step  into  the  library  ?  There's  a  fire  in  the  grate,  and  I'll 
let  Mr.  French  know  you  are  here." 

But  Mr.  French,  who  had  overheard  part  of  the  colloquy, 
came  forward  from  an  adjoining  room,  in  smoking  jacket 
and  slippers. 

"How  do  you  do?"  he  asked,  extending  his  hand. 
"It  was  mighty  good  of  you  to  come  to  see  me." 

"And  I'm  awfully  glad  to  find  you  better,"  she  returned, 
giving  him  her  slender,  gloved  hand  with  impulsive 
warmth.  "I  might  have  telephoned,  but  I  wanted  to  see 
for  myself.  I  felt  a  part  of  the  blame  to  be  mine,  for  it 
is  partly  for  me,  you  know,  that  you  have  been  over- 
working." 

"It  was  all  in  the  game,"  he  said,  "and  we  have  won. 
But  sit  down  and  stay  awhile.  I  know  you'll  pardon  my 
smoking  jacket.  We  are  partners,  you  know,  and  I 
claim  an  invalid's  privilege  as  well." 

The  lady's  fine  eyes  beamed,  and  her  fair  cheek  flushed 
with  pleasure.  Had  he  only  realised  it,  he  might  have 
claimed  of  her  any  privilege  a  woman  can  properly  allow, 
even  that  of  conducting  her  to  the  altar.  But  to  him  she 
was  only,  thus  far,  as  she  had  been  for  a  long  time,  a 
very  good  friend  of  his  own  and  of  Phil's;  a  former  part- 
ner's widow,  who  had  retained  her  husband's  interest  in 
the  business;  a  wholesome,  handsome  woman,  who  was 
always  excellent  company  and  at  whose  table  he  had 
often  eaten,  both  before  and  since  her  husband's  death. 
Nor,  despite  Kirby's  notions,  was  he  entirely  ignorant 
of  the  lady's  partiality  for  himself. 

"Doctor  Moffatt  has  ordered  Phil  and  me  away,  for 
three  months,"  he  said,  after  Mrs.  Jerviss  had  inquired 
particularly  concerning  his  health  and  Phil's. 

"Three  months!"  she  exclaimed  with  an  accent  of 


12  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

dismay.  "But  you'll  be  back,"  she  added,  recovering 
herself  quickly,  "before  the  vacation  season  opens?" 

"Oh,  certainly;  we  shall  not  leave  the  country." 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"The  doctor  has  prescribed  the  pine  woods.  I  shall 
visit  my  old  home,  where  I  was  born.  We  shall  leave  in 
a  day  or  two." 

"You  must  dine  with  me  to-morrow,"  she  said  warmly, 
"and  tell  me  about  your  old  home.  I  haven't  had  an 
opportunity  to  thank  you  for  making  me  rich,  and  I 
want  your  advice  about  what  to  do  with  the  money;  and 
I'm  tiring  you  now  when  you  ought  to  be  resting." 

"Do  not  hurry,"  he  said.  "It  is  almost  a  pleasure  to 
be  weak  and  helpless,  since  it  gives  me  the  privilege  of  a 
visit  from  you." 

She  lingered  a  few  moments  and  then  went.  She  was 
the  embodiment  of  good  taste  and  knew  when  to  come 
and  when  to  go. 

Mr.  French  was  conscious  that  her  visit,  instead  of  tiring 
him,  had  had  an  opposite  effect;  she  had  come  and  gone 
like  a  pleasant  breeze,  bearing  sweet  odours  and  the  echo 
of  distant  music.  Her  shapely  hand,  when  it  had  touched 
his  own,  had  been  soft  but  firm;  and  he  had  almost 
wished,  as  he  held  it  for  a  moment,  that  he  might 
feel  it  resting  on  his  still  somewhat  fevered  brow. 
When  he  came  back  from  the  South,  he  would  see  a 
good  deal  of  her,  either  at  the  seaside,  or  wherever  she 
might  spend  the  summer. 

When  Mr.  French  and  Phil  were  ready,  a  day  or  two 
later,  to  start  upon  their  journey,  Kirby  was  at  the 
Mercedes  to  see  them  off. 

"You're  taking  Judson  with  you  to  look  after  the  boy  ?" 
he  asked. 

"No,"  replied  Mr.  French,  "Judson  is  in  love,  and 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  13 

does  not  wish  to  leave  New  York.  He  will  take  a  vacation 
until  we  return.     Phil  and  I  can  get  along  very  well  alone. 

Kirby  went  with  them  across  the  ferry  to  the  Jersey 
side,  and  through  the  station  gates  to  the  waiting  train. 
There  was  a  flurry  of  snow  in  the  air,  and  overcoats 
were  comfortable.  When  Mr.  French  had  turned  over 
his  hand  luggage  to  the  porter  of  the  Pullman,  they 
walked  up  and  down  the  station  platform. 

"I'm  looking  for  something  to  interest  us,"  said  Kirby, 
rolling  a  cigarette.  "There's  a  mining  proposition  in 
Utah,  and  a  trolley  railroad  in  Oklahoma.  When  things 
are  settled  up  here,  I'll  take  a  run  out,  and  look  the  ground 
over,  and  write  to  you." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  his  friend,  "don't  hurry.  Why 
should  I  make  any  more  money  ?  I  have  all  I  shall  ever 
need,  and  as  much  as  will  be  good  for  Phil.  If  you  find 
a  good  thing,  I  can  help  you  finance  it;  and  Mrs.  Jerviss 
will  welcome  a  good  investment.  But  I  shall  take  a 
long  rest,  and  then  travel  for  a  year  or  two,  and  after  that 
settle  down  and  take  life  comfortably." 

"That's  the  way  you  feel  now,"  replied  Kirby,  lighting 
another  cigarette,  "but  wait  until  you  are  rested,  and 
you'll  yearn  for  the  fray;  the  first  million  only  whets  the 
appetite  for  more." 

"All  aboard!" 

The  word  was  passed  along  the  line  of  cars.  Kirby 
took  leave  of  Phil,  into  whose  hand  he  had  thrust  a  five- 
dollar  bill,  "To  buy  popcorn  on  the  train,"  he  said,  kissed 
the  boy,  and  wrung  his  ex-partner's  hand  warmly. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said,  "and  good  luck.  You'll  hear 
from  me  soon.  We're  partners  still,  you  and  I  and  Mrs. 
Jerviss." 

And  though  Mr.  French  smiled  acquiescence,  and 
returned    Kirby's    hand   clasp   with    equal    vigour   and 


14  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

sincerity,  he  felt,  as  the  train  rolled  away,  as  one  might 
feel  who,  after  a  long  sojourn  in  an  alien  land,  at  last 
takes  ship  for  home.  The  mere  act  of  leaving  New  York, 
after  the  severance  of  all  compelling  ties,  seemed  to  set  in 
motion  old  currents  of  feeling,  which,  moving  slowly  at 
the  start,  gathered  momentum  as  the  miles  rolled  by, 
until  his  heart  leaped  forward  to  the  old  Southern  town 
which  was  his  destination,  and  he  soon  felt  himself 
chafing  impatiently  at  any  delay  that  threatened  to  throw 
the  train  behind  schedule  time. 

"He'll  be  back  in  six  weeks,"  declared  Kirby,  when 
Mrs.  Jerviss  and  he  next  met.  "I  know  him  well;  he 
can't  live  without  his  club  and  his  counting  room.  It  is 
hard  to  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks." 

"And  I'm  sure  he'll  not  stay  away  longer  than  three 
months,"  said  the  lady  confidently,  "for  I  have  invited 
him  to  my  house  party." 

"A  privilege,"  said  Kirby  gallantly,  "for  which  many 
a  man  would  come  from  the  other  end  of  the  world." 

But  they  were  both  mistaken.  For  even  as  they  spoke, 
he  whose  future  each  was  planning,  was  entering  upon  a 
new  life  of  his  own,  from  which  he  was  to  look  back  upon 
his  business  career  as  a  mere  period  of  preparation  for  the 
real  end  and  purpose  of  his  earthly  existence. 


CHAPTER  II 

The  hack  which  the  colonel  had  taken  at  the  station 
after  a  two-days'  journey,  broken  by  several  long  waits 
for  connecting  trains,  jogged  in  somewhat  leisurely  fashion 
down  the  main  street  toward  the  hotel.  The  colonel, 
with  his  little  boy,  had  left  the  main  line  of  railroad  leading 
north  and  south  and  had  taken  at  a  certain  way  station 
the  one  daily  train  for  Clarendon,  with  which  the  express 
made  connection.  They  had  completed  the  forty-mile 
journey  in  two  or  three  hours,  arriving  at  Clarendon  at 
noon. 

It  was  an  auspicious  moment  for  visiting  the  town.  It 
is  true  that  the  grass  grew  in  the  street  here  and  there, 
but  the  sidewalks  were  separated  from  the  roadway  by 
rows  of  oaks  and  elms  and  china-trees  in  early  leaf. 
The  travellers  had  left  New  York  in  the  midst  of  a  snow- 
storm, but  here  the  scent  of  lilac  and  of  jonquil,  the 
song  of  birds,  the  breath  of  spring,  were  all  about  them. 
The  occasional  stretches  of  brick  sidewalk  under  their 
green  canopy  looked  cool  and  inviting;  for  while  the  chill 
of  winter  had  fled  and  the  sultry  heat  of  summer  was 
not  yet  at  hand,  the  railroad  coach  had  been  close  and 
dusty,  and  the  noonday  sun  gave  some  slight  foretaste 
of  his  coming  reign. 

The  colonel  looked  about  him  eagerly.  It  was  all  so 
like,  and  yet  so  different — shrunken  somewhat,  and 
faded,  but  yet,  like  a  woman  one  loves,  carried  into  old 
age  something  of  the  charm  of  youth.  The  old  town,  whose 
ripeness  was  almost  decay,  whose  quietness  was  scarcely 


16  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

distinguishable  from  lethargy,  had  been  the  home  of  his 
youth,  and  he  saw  it,  strange  to  say,  less  with  the  eyes  of 
the  lad  of  sixteen  who  had  gone  to  the  war,  than  with  those 
of  the  little  boy  to  whom  it  had  been,  in  his  tenderest 
years,  the  great  wide  world,  the  only  world  he  knew  in 
the  years  when,  with  his  black  boy  Peter,  whom  his  father 
had  given  to  him  as  a  personal  attendant,  he  had  gone 
forth  to  field  and  garden,  stream  and  forest,  in  search  of 
childish  adventure.  Yonder  was  the  old  academy,  where 
he  had  attended  school.  The  yellow  brick  of  its  walls 
had  scaled  away  in  places,  leaving  the  surface  mottled 
with  pale  splotches;  the  shingled  roof  was  badly  dilapi- 
dated, and  overgrown  here  and  there  with  dark  green  moss. 
The  cedar  trees  in  the  yard  were  in  need  of  pruning,  and 
seemed,  from  their  rusty  trunks  and  scant  leafage,  to  have 
shared  in  the  general  decay.  As  they  drove  down  the 
street,  cows  were  grazing  in  the  vacant  lot  between  the 
bank,  which  had  been  built  by  the  colonel's  grandfather, 
and  the  old  red  brick  building,  formerly  a  store,  but  now 
occupied,  as  could  be  seen  by  the  row  of  boxes  visible 
through  the  open  door,  by  the  post-office. 

The  little  boy,  an  unusually  handsome  lad  of  five  or 
six,  with  blue  eyes  and  fair  hair,  dressed  in  knickerbockers 
and  a  sailor  cap,  was  also  keenly  interested  in  the  sur- 
roundings. It  was  Saturday,  and  the  little  two-wheeled 
carts,  drawn  by  a  steer  or  a  mule;  the  pigs  sleeping  in  the 
shadow  of  the  old  wooden  market-house;  the  lean  and 
sallow  pinelanders  and  listless  negroes  dozing  on  the 
curbstone,  were  all  objects  of  novel  interest  to  the  boy, 
as  was  manifest  by  the  light  in  his  eager  eyes  and  an 
occasional  exclamation,  which  in  a  clear  childish  treble, 
came  from  his  perfectly  chiselled  lips.  Only  a  glance 
was  needed  to  see  that  the  child,  though  still  somewhat 
pale  and  delicate  from  his  recent  illness,  had  inherited 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  17 

the  characteristics  attributed  to  good  blood.  Features, 
expression,  bearing,  were  marked  by  the  signs  of  race; 
but  a  closer  scrutiny  was  required  to  discover,  in  the 
blue-eyed,  golden-haired  lad,  any  close  resemblance  to 
the  shrewd,  dark  man  of  affairs  who  sat  beside  him,  and 
to  whom  this  little  boy  was,  for  the  time  being,  the  sole 
object  in  life. 

But  for  the  child  the  colonel  was  alone  in  the  world. 
Many  years  before,  when  himself  only  a  boy,  he  had  served 
in  the  Southern  army,  in  a  regiment  which  had  fought 
with  such  desperate  valour  that  the  honour  of  the  colonelcy 
had  come  to  him  at  nineteen,  as  the  sole  survivor  of  the 
group  of  young  men  who  had  officered  the  regiment. 
His  father  died  during  the  last  year  of  the  Civil  War, 
having  lived  long  enough  to  see  the  conflict  work  ruin  to 
his  fortunes.  The  son  had  been  offered  employment  in 
New  York  by  a  relative  who  had  sympathised  with  the 
South  in  her  struggle;  and  he  had  gone  away  from  Claren- 
don. The  old  family  "mansion" — it  was  not  a  very 
imposing  structure,  except  by  comparison  with  even  less 
pretentious  houses — had  been  sold  upon  foreclosure,  and 
bought  by  an  ambitious  mulatto,  who  only  a  few  years 
before  had  himself  been  an  object  of  barter  and  sale. 
Entering  his  uncle's  office  as  a  clerk,  and  following  his 
advice,  reinforced  by  a  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things,  the 
youthful  colonel  had  dropped  his  military  title  and  become 
plain  Mr.  French.  Putting  the  past  behind  him,  except 
as  a  fading  memory,  he  had  thrown  himself  eagerly  into 
the  current  of  affairs.  Fortune  favoured  one  both  capable 
and  energetic.  In  time  he  won  a  partnership  in  the  firm, 
and  when  death  removed  his  relative,  took  his  place  at 
its  head. 

He  had  looked  forward  to  the  time,  not  very  far  in 
the   future,  when    he    might    retire  from  business  and 


18  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

devote  his  leisure  to  study  and  travel,  tastes  which  for 
years  he  had  subordinated  to  the  pursuit  of  wealth;  not 
entirely,  for  his  life  had  been  many  sided;  and  not  so 
much  for  the  money,  as  because,  being  in  a  game  where 
dollars  were  the  counters,  it  was  his  instinct  to  play 
it  well.  He  was  winning  already,  and  when  the  bagging 
trust  paid  him,  for  his  share  of  the  business,  a  sum  double 
his  investment,  he  found  himself,  at  some  years  less  than 
fifty,  relieved  of  business  cares  and  in  command  of  an 
ample  fortune. 

This  change  in  the  colonel's  affairs — and  we  shall  hence- 
forth call  him  the  colonel,  because  the  scene  of  this  story  is 
laid  in  the  South,  where  titles  are  seldom  ignored,  and 
where  the  colonel  could  hardly  have  escaped  his  own,  even 
had  he  desired  to  do  so — this  change  in  the  colonel's 
affairs  coincided  with  that  climacteric  of  the  mind,  from 
which,  without  ceasing  to  look  forward,  it  turns,  at  times, 
in  wistful  retrospect,  toward  the  distant  past,  which  it 
sees  thenceforward  through  a  mellowing  glow  of  senti- 
ment. Emancipated  from  the  counting  room,  and  ordered 
South  by  the  doctor,  the  colonel's  thoughts  turned  easily 
and  naturally  to  the  old  town  that  had  given  him  birth; 
and  he  felt  a  twinge  of  something  like  remorse  at  the 
reflection  that  never  once  since  leaving  it  had  he  set 
foot  within  its  borders.  For  years  he  had  been  too  busy. 
His  wife  had  never  manifested  any  desire  to  visit  the 
South,  nor  was  her  temperament  one  to  evoke  or  sym- 
pathise with  sentimental  reminiscence.  He  had  married, 
rather  late  in  life,  a  New  York  woman,  much  younger 
than  himself;  and  while  he  had  admired  her  beauty  and 
they  had  lived  very  pleasantly  together,  there  had  not 
existed  between  them  the  entire  union  of  souls  essential  to 
perfect  felicity,  and  the  current  of  his  life  had  not  been 
greatly  altered  by  her  loss. 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  19 

Toward  little  Phil,  however,  the  child  she  had  borne  him, 
his  feeling  was  very  different.  His  young  wife  had  been, 
after  all,  but  a  sweet  and  pleasant  graft  upon  a  sturdy 
tree.  Little  Phil  was  flesh  of  his  flesh  and  bone  of  his 
bone.  Upon  his  only  child  the  colonel  lavished  all  of  his 
affection.  Already,  to  his  father's  eye,  the  boy  gave 
promise  of  a  noble  manhood.  His  frame  was  graceful  and 
active.  His  hair  was  even  more  brightly  golden  than  his 
mother's  had  been;  his  eyes  more  deeply  blue  than  hers; 
while  his  features  were  a  duplicate  of  his  father's  at  the 
same  age,  as  was  evidenced  by  a  faded  daguerreotype 
among  the  colonel's  few  souvenirs  of  his  own  childhood. 
Little  Phil  had  a  sweet  temper,  a  loving  disposition,  and 
endeared  himself  to  all  with  whom  he  came  in  contact. 

The  hack,  after  a  brief  passage  down  the  main  street, 
deposited  the  passengers  at  the  front  of  the  Clarendon 
Hotel.  The  colonel  paid  the  black  driver  the  quarter  he 
demanded — two  dollars  would  have  been  the  New  York 
price — ran  the  gauntlet  of  the  dozen  pairs  of  eyes  in  the 
heads  of  the  men  leaning  back  in  the  splint-bottomed  arm- 
chairs under  the  shade  trees  on  the  sidewalk,  registered 
in  the  book  pushed  forward  by  a  clerk  with  curled  mus- 
taches and  pomatumed  hair,  and  accompanied  by  Phil, 
followed  the  smiling  black  bellboy  along  a  passage  and 
up  one  flight  of  stairs  to  a  spacious,  well-lighted  and 
neatly  furnished  room,  looking  out  upon  the  main  street. 


CHAPTER  III 

When  the  colonel  and  Phil  had  removed  the  dust  and 
disorder  of  travel  from  their  appearance,  they  went  down 
to  dinner.  After  they  had  eaten,  the  colonel,  still  ac- 
companied by  the  child,  left  the  hotel,  and  following  the 
main  street  for  a  short  distance,  turned  into  another 
thoroughfare  bordered  with  ancient  elms,  and  stopped  for 
a  moment  before  an  old  gray  house  with  high  steps  and 
broad  piazza — a  large,  square-built,  two-storied  house, 
with  a  roof  sloping  down  toward  the  front,  broken  by 
dormer  windows  and  buttressed  by  a  massive  brick 
chimney  at  either  end.  In  spite  of  the  gray  monotone  to 
which  the  paintless  years  had  reduced  the  once  white 
weatherboarding  and  green  Venetian  blinds,  the  house  pos- 
sessed a  certain  stateliness  of  style  which  was  independent 
of  circumstance,  and  a  solidity  of  construction  that  resisted 
sturdily  the  disintegrating  hand  of  time.  Heart-pine  and 
live-oak,  mused  the  colonel,  like  other  things  Southern, 
live  long  and  die  hard.  The  old  house  had  been  built 
of  the  best  materials,  and  its  woodwork  dowelled  and 
mortised  and  tongued  and  grooved  by  men  who  knew 
their  trade  and  had  not  learned  to  scamp  their  work. 
For  the  colonel's  grandfather  had  built  the  house  as  a 
town  residence,  the  family  having  owned  in  addition 
thereto  a  handsome  country  place  upon  a  large  plantation 
remote  from  the  town. 

The  colonel  had  stopped  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street  and  was  looking  intently  at  the  home  of  his  ancestors 
and  of  his  own  youth,  when  a  neatly  dressed  coloured 

20 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  21 

girl  came  out  on  the  piazza,  seated  herself  in  a  rocking- 
chair  with  an  air  of  proprietorship,  and  opened  what  the 
colonel  perceived  to  be,  even  across  the  street,  a  copy  of  a 
woman's  magazine  whose  circulation,  as  he  knew  from 
the  advertising  rates  that  French  and  Co.  had  paid  for 
the  use  of  its  columns,  touched  the  million  mark.  Not 
wishing  to  seem  rude,  the  colonel  moved  slowly  on  down 
the  street.  When  he  turned  his  head,  after  going  a  rod  or 
two,  and  looked  back  over  his  shoulder,  the  girl  had  risen 
and  was  re-entering  the  house.  Her  disappearance  was 
promptly  followed  by  the  notes  of  a  piano,  slightly  out  of 
tune,  to  which  some  one — presumably  the  young  woman — 
was  singing  in  a  high  voice,  which  might  have  been  better 
had  it  been  better  trained, 

"  I  dreamt  that  I  dwe-elt  in  ma-arble  halls 
With  vassals  and  serfs  at  my  si-i-ide." 

The  colonel  had  slackened  his  pace  at  the  sound  of  the 
music,  but,  after  the  first  few  bars,  started  forward  with 
quickened  footsteps  which  he  did  not  relax  until  little 
Phil's  weight,  increasing  momentarily,  brought  home  to  him 
the  consciousness  that  his  stride  was  too  long  for  the  boy's 
short  legs.  Phil,  who  was  a  thoroughbred,  and  would 
have  dropped  in  his  tracks  without  complaining,  was 
nevertheless  relieved  when  his  father's  pace  returned  to 
the  normal. 

Their  walk  led  down  a  hill,  and,  very  soon,  to  a  wooden 
bridge  which  spanned  a  creek  some  twenty  feet  below. 
The  colonel  paused  for  a  moment  beside  the  railing,  and 
looked  up  and  down  the  stream.  It  seemed  narrower  and 
more  sluggish  than  his  memory  had  pictured  it.  Above 
him  the  water  ran  between  high  banks  grown  thick  with 
underbrush  and  over-arching  trees;  below  the  bridge,  to 


22  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

the  right  of  the  creek,  lay  an  open  meadow,  and  to  the  left, 
a  few  rods  away,  the  ruins  of  the  old  Eureka  cotton  mill, 
which  in  his  boyhood  had  harboured  a  flourishing  industry, 
but  which  had  remained,  since  Sherman's  army  laid 
waste  the  country,  the  melancholy  ruin  the  colonel  had 
seen  it  last,  when  twenty-five  years  or  more  before,  he  left 
Clarendon  to  seek  a  wider  career  in  the  outer  world. 
The  clear  water  of  the  creek  rippled  harmoniously  down  a 
gentle  slope  and  over  the  site  where  the  great  dam  at  the 
foot  had  stood,  while  birds  were  nesting  in  the  vines 
with  which  kindly  nature  had  sought  to  cloak  the  dis- 
mantled and  crumbling  walls. 

Mounting  the  slope  beyond  the  bridge,  the  colonel's 
stride  now  carefully  accommodated  to  the  child's  puny 
step,  they  skirted  a  low  brick  wall,  beyond  which  white 
headstones  gleamed  in  a  mass  of  verdure.  Reaching  an 
iron  gate,  the  colonel  lifted  the  latch,  and  entered  the 
cemetery  which  had  been  the  object  of  their  visit. 

"Is  this  the  place,  papa ?"  asked  the  little  boy. 

"Yes,  Phil,  but  it  is  farther  on,  in  the  older  part." 

They  passed  slowly  along,  under  the  drooping  elms  and 
willows,  past  the  monuments  on  either  hand — here,  resting 
on  a  low  brick  wall,  a  slab  of  marble,  once  white,  now 
gray  and  moss-grown,  from  which  the  hand  of  time  had 
well  nigh  erased  the  carved  inscription;  here  a  family 
vault,  built  into  the  side  of  a  mound  of  earth,  from  which 
only  the  barred  iron  door  distinguished  it;  here  a  pedestal, 
with  a  time-worn  angel  holding  a  broken  fragment  of 
the  resurrection  trumpet;  here  a  prostrate  headstone,  and 
there  another  bending  to  its  fall;  and  among  them  a 
profusion  of  rose  bushes,  on  some  of  which  the  early 
roses  were  already  blooming — scarcely  a  well-kept 
cemetery,  for  in  many  lots  the  shrubbery  grew  in  wild 
unpruned  luxuriance;  nor  yet  entirely  neglected,  since 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  23 

others  showed  the  signs  of  loving  care,  and  an  effort  had 
been  made  to  keep  the  walks  clean  and  clear. 

Father  and  son  had  traversed  half  the  width  of  the 
cemetery,  when  they  came  to  a  spacious  lot,  surrounded 
by  large  trees  and  containing  several  monuments.  It 
seemed  less  neglected  than  the  lots  about  it,  and  as  they 
drew  nigh  they  saw  among  the  tombs  a  very  black  and 
seemingly  aged  Negro  engaged  in  pruning  a  tangled 
rose  tree.  Near  him  stood  a  dilapidated  basket,  partially 
filled  with  weeds  and  leaves,  into  which  he  was  throwing 
the  dead  and  superfluous  limbs.  He  seemed  very  intent 
upon  his  occupation,  and  had  not  noticed  the  colonel's 
and  Phil's  approach  until  they  had  paused  at  the  side 
of  the  lot  and  stood  looking  at  him. 

When  the  old  man  became  aware  of  their  presence,  he 
straightened  himself  up  with  the  slow  movement  of  one 
stiff  with  age  or  rheumatism  and  threw  them  a  tentatively 
friendly  look  out  of  a  pair  of  faded  eyes. 

"Howdy  do,  uncle,"  said  the  colonel.  "Will  you 
tell  me  whose  graves  these  are  that  you  are  car- 
ing for?" 

"Yas,  suh,"  said  the  old  man,  removing  his  battered 
hat  respectfully — the  rest  of  his  clothing  was  in  keeping, 
a  picturesque  assortment  of  rags  and  patches  such  as  only 
an  old  Negro  can  get  together,  or  keep  together — "dis 
hyuh  lot,  suh,  b'longs  ter  de  fambly  dat  I  useter  b'long  ter 
— de  ol'  French  fambly,  suh,  de  fines'  fambly  in  Beaver 
County." 

"Why,  papa!"  cried  little  Phil,  "he  means " 

"Hush,  Phil!     Go  on,  uncle." 

"Yas,  suh,  de  fines'  fambly  in  Cla'endon,  suh.  Dis 
hyuh  headstone  hyuh,  suh,  an'  de  little  stone  at  de  foot, 
rep'esents  de  grave  er  ol'  Gin'al  French,  w'at  fit  in  de 
Revolution'  Wah,  suh;  and  dis  hyuh  one  nex'  to  it  is  de 


24  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

grave  er  my  ol'  marster,  Majah  French,  w'at  fit  in  de 
Mexican  Wah,  and  died  endyoin'  de  wah  wid  de  Yankees, 
suh." 

"Papa,"  urged  Phil,  "that's  my " 

"Shut  up,  Phil!  Well,  uncle,  did  this  interesting  old 
family  die  out,  or  is  it  represented  in  the  present  genera- 
tion?" 

"Lawd,  no,  suh,  de  fambly  did  n'  die  out — 'deed  dey 
did  n'  die  out!  dey  ain't  de  kind  er  fambly  ter  die  out! 
But  it's  mos'  as  bad,  suh — dey's  moved  away.  Young 
Mars  Henry  went  ter  de  Norf,  and  dey  say  he's  got  rich; 
but  he  ain't  be'n  back  no  mo',  suh,  an'  I  don'  know 
whether  he's  ever  comin'  er  no." 

"You  must  have  been  very  fond  of  them  to  take  such 
good  care  of  their  graves,"  said  the  colonel,  much  moved, 
but  giving  no  sign. 

"Well,  suh,  I  b'longed  ter  de  fambly,  an'  I  ain'  got  no 
chick  ner  chile  er  my  own,  livin',  an'  dese  hyuh  dead 
folks  'pears  mo'  closer  ter  me  dan  anybody  e'se.  De 
cullud  folks  don'  was'e  much  time  wid  a  ole  man  w'at 
ain'  got  nothin',  an'  dese  hyuh  new  w'ite  folks  wa't  is 
come  up  sence  de  wah,  ain'  got  no  use  fer  niggers,  now 
dat  dey  don'  b'long  ter  nobody  no  mo';  so  w'en  I  ain'  got 
nothin'  e'se  ter  do,  I  comes  roun'  hyuh,  whar  I  knows 
ev'ybody  and  ev'ybody  knows  me,  an'  trims  de  rose 
bushes  an'  pulls  up  de  weeds  and  keeps  de  grass  down 
jes'  lak  I  s'pose  Mars  Henry'd  'a'  had  it  done  ef  he'd  'a' 
lived  hyuh  in  de  ole  home,  stidder  'way  off  yandah  in  de 
Norf,  whar  he  so  busy  makin'  money  dat  he  done  fergot 
all  'bout  his  own  folks." 

"What  is  your  name?"  asked  the  colonel,  who  had  been 
looking  closely  at  the  old  man. 

"Peter,  suh — Peter  French.  Most  er  de  niggers 
change'  dey  names  after  de  wah,  but  I  kept  de  ole  fambly 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  25 

name  I  wuz  raise'  by.  It  wuz  good  'nuff  fer  me,  suh; 
dey  am'  none  better." 

"Oh,  papa,"  said  little  Phil,  unable  to  restrain  himself 
longer,  "he  must  be  some  kin  to  us;  he  has  the  same 
name,  and  belongs  to  the  same  family,  and  you  know  you 
called  him  'Uncle.'" 

The  old  Negro  had  dropped  his  hat,  and  was  staring  at 
the  colonel  and  the  little  boy,  alternately,  with  dawning 
amazement,  while  a  look  of  recognition  crept  slowly  into 
his  rugged  old  face. 

"Look  a  hyuh,  suh,"  he  said  tremulously,  "is  it? — it 
can't  be! — but  dere's  de  eyes,  an'  de  nose,  an'  de  shape  er 
de  head — why,  it  must  be  my  young  Mars  Henry!" 

"Yes,"  said  the  colonel,  extending  his  hand  to  the  old 
man,  who  grasped  it  with  both  his  own  and  shook  it 
up  and  down  with  unconventional  but  very  affectionate 
vigour,  "and  you  are  my  boy  Peter;  who  took  care  of 
me  when  I  was  no  bigger  than  Phil  here!" 

This  meeting  touched  a  tender  chord  in  the  colonel's 
nature,  already  tuned  to  sympathy  with  the  dead  past  of 
which  Peter  seemed  the  only  survival.  The  old  man's 
unfeigned  delight  at  their  meeting;  his  retention  of  the 
family  name,  a  living  witness  of  its  former  standing;  his 
respect  for  the  dead;  his  "family  pride,"  which  to  the 
unsympathetic  outsider  might  have  seemed  grotesque; 
were  proofs  of  loyalty  that  moved  the  colonel  deeply. 
When  he  himself  had  been  a  child  of  five  or  six,  his  father 
had  given  him  Peter  as  his  own  boy.  Peter  was  really 
not  many  years  older  than  the  colonel,  but  prosperity  had 
preserved  the  one,  while  hard  luck  had  aged  the  other  pre- 
maturely. Peter  had  taken  care  of  him,  and  taught  him  to 
paddle  in  the  shallow  water  of  the  creek  and  to  avoid  the 
suck-holes ;  had  taught  him  simple  woodcraft,  how  to  fish, 
and  how  to  hunt,  first  with  bow  and  arrow,  and  later 


26  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

with  a  shotgun.  Through  the  golden  haze  of  memory 
the  colonel's  happy  childhood  came  back  to  him  with  a 
sudden  rush  of  emotion. 

"Those  were  good  times,  Peter,  when  we  were  young," 
he  sighed  regretfully,  "good  times!  I  have  seen  none 
happier." 

"Yas,  suh!  yas,  suh!  'Deed  dem  wuz  good  ole  times! 
Sho'  dey  wuz,  suh,  sho'  dey  wuz!  'Member  dem 
co'n-stalk  fiddles  we  use'  ter  make,  an'  dem  elderberry- 
wood  whistles?" 

"Yes,  Peter,  and  the  robins  we  used  to  shoot  and  the 
rabbits  we  used  to  trap  ?  " 

"An'  dem  watermillions,  suh — um-m-m,  um-m-m-m!" 

"Y-e-s,"  returned  the  colonel,  with  a  shade  of  pensive- 
ness.  There  had  been  two  sides  to  the  watermelon 
question.  Peter  and  he  had  not  always  been  able  to  find 
ripe  watermelons,  early  in  the  season,  and  at  times  there 
had  been  painful  consequences,  the  memory  of  which 
came  back  to  the  colonel  with  surprising  ease.  Nor  had 
they  always  been  careful  about  boundaries  in  those  early 
days.  There  had  been  one  occasion  when  an  irate 
neighbour  had  complained,  and  Major  French  had 
thrashed  Henry  and  Peter  both — Peter  because  he  was 
older,  and  knew  better,  and  Henry  because  it  was  impor- 
tant that  he  should  have  impressed  upon  him,  early  in 
life,  that  of  him  to  whom  much  is  given,  much  will  be 
required,  and  that  what  might  be  lightly  regarded  in 
Peter's  case  would  be  a  serious  offence  in  his  future 
master's.  The  lesson  had  been  well  learned,  for  through- 
out the  course  of  his  life  the  colonel  had  never  shirked 
responsibility,  but  had  made  the  performance  of  duty  his 
criterion  of  conduct.  To  him  the  line  of  least  resistance 
had  always  seemed  the  refuge  of  the  coward  and  the 
weakling.    With  the  twenty  years  preceding  his  return  to 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  27 

Clarendon,  this  story  has  nothing  to  do;  but  upon  the 
quiet  background  of  his  business  career  he  had  lived  an 
active  intellectual  and  emotional  life,  and  had  developed 
into  one  of  those  rare  natures  of  whom  it  may  be  truly 
said  that  they  are  men,  and  that  they  count  nothing  of 
what  is  human  foreign  to  themselves. 

But  the  serenity  of  Peter's  retrospect  was  unmarred  by 
any  passing  cloud.  Those  who  dwell  in  darkness  find 
it  easier  to  remember  the  bright  places  in  their  lives. 

"Yas,  suh,  yas,  suh,  dem  watermillions,"  he  repeated 
with  unction,  "I  kin  tas'e  'em  now!  Dey  wuz  de  be's 
watermillions  dat  evuh  growed,  suh — dey  doan  raise 
none  lack  'em  dese  days  no  mo'.  An'  den  dem  chin- 
quapin bushes  down  by  de  swamp!  'Member  dem 
chinquapin  bushes,  whar  we  killt  dat  water  moccasin  dat 
day?     He  wuz  'bout  ten  foot  long!" 

"Yes,  Peter,  he  was  a  whopper!  Then  there  were  the 
bullace  vines,  in  the  woods  beyond  the  tanyard! " 

"Sho'  'nuff,  suh!  an'  de  minnows  we  use'  ter  ketch  in  de 
creek,  an'  dem  perch  in  de  mill  pon'  ?" 

For  years  the  colonel  had  belonged  to  a  fishing  club, 
which  preserved  an  ice-cold  stream  in  a  Northern  forest. 
For  years  the  choicest  fruits  of  all  the  earth  had  been 
served  daily  upon  his  table.  Yet  as  he  looked  back  to-day 
no  shining  trout  that  had  ever  risen  to  his  fly  had  stirred 
his  emotions  like  the  diaphanous  minnows,  caught,  with  a 
crooked  pin,  in  the  crooked  creek;  no  luscious  fruit  had 
ever  matched  in  sweetness  the  sour  grapes  and  bitter  nuts 
gathered  from  the  native  woods — by  him  and  Peter  in 
their  far-off  youth. 

"Yas,  suh,  yas,  suh,"  Peter  went  on,  "an'  'member  dat 
time  you  an'  young  Mars  Jim  Wilson  went  huntin'  and 
fishin'  up  de  country  tergether,  an'  got  ti'ed  er  waitin'  on 
yo'se'ves  an'  writ  back  fer  me  ter  come  up  ter  wait  on  yer 


28  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

and  cook  fer  yer,  an'  ole  Marster  say  he  did  n'  dare  ter 
let  me  go  'way  off  yander  wid  two  keerliss  boys  lak  you-all, 
wid  guns  an'  boats  fer  fear  I  mought  git  shot,  er 
drownded  ?  " 

"It  looked,  Peter,  as  though  he  valued  you  more  than 
me!  more  than  his  own  son!" 

"Yas,  suh,  yas,  suh!  sho'  he  did,  sho'  he  did!  old 
Marse  Philip  wuz  a  monstus  keerful  man,  an'  I  wuz 
wuth  somethin',  suh,  dem  times;  I  wuz  wuth  five 
hundred  dollahs  any  day  in  de  yeah.  But  nobody 
would  n'  give  five  hundred  cents  fer  me  now,  suh. 
Dey'd  want  pay  fer  takin'  me,  mos'  lakly.  Dey  am' 
none  too  much  room  fer  a  young  nigger  no  mo',  let 
'lone  a'  oP  one." 

"And  what  have  you  been  doing  all  these  years,  Peter  ?" 
asked  the  colonel. 

Peter's  story  was  not  a  thrilling  one;  it  was  no  tale  of 
inordinate  ambition,  no  Odyssey  of  a  perilous  search  for 
the  prizes  of  life,  but  the  bald  recital  of  a  mere  struggle  for 
existence.  Peter  had  stayed  by  his  master  until  his  master's 
death.  Then  he  had  worked  for  a  railroad  contractor, 
until  exposure  and  overwork  had  laid  him  up  with  a  fever. 
After  his  recovery,  he  had  been  employed  for  some  years 
at  cutting  turpentine  boxes  in  the  pine  woods,  following 
the  trail  of  the  industry  southward,  until  one  day  his 
axe  had  slipped  and  wounded  him  severely.  When 
his  wound  was  healed  he  was  told  that  he  was  too  old 
and  awkward  for  the  turpentine,  and  that  they  needed 
younger  and  more  active  men. 

"So  w'en  I  got  my  laig  kyo'ed  up,"  said  the  old  man, 
concluding  his  story,  "I  come  back  hyuh  whar  I  wuz 
bo'n,  suh,  and  whar  my  w'ite  folks  use'  ter  live,  an'  whar 
my  frien's  use'  ter  be.  But  my  w'ite  folks  wuz  all  in  de 
graveya'd,  an'  most  er  my  frien's  wuz  dead  er  moved 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  29 

away,  an'  I  fin's  it  kinder  lonesome,  suh.  I  goes  out 
an'  picks  cotton  in  de  fall,  an'  I  does  arrants  an' 
little  jobs  roun'  de  house  fer  folks  w'at  '11  hire  me;  an' 
w'en  I  ain'  got  nothin'  ter  eat  I  kin  gor  oun'  ter  de  ole 
house  an'  wo'k  in  de  gyahden  er  chop  some  wood,  an' 
git  a  meal  er  vittles  f'om  ole  Mis'  Nichols,  who's  be'n 
mighty  good  ter  me,  suh.  She's  de  barbuh's  wife, 
suh,  w'at  bought  ouah  ole  house.  Dey  got  mo'  dan 
any  yuther  colored  folks  roun'  hyuh,  but  dey  he'ps  de 
po',  suh,  dey  he'ps  de  po'." 

"Which  speaks  well  for  them,  Peter.  I'm  glad  that  all 
the  virtue  has  not  yet  gone  out  of  the  old  house." 

The  old  man's  talk  rambled  on,  like  a  sluggish  stream, 
while  the  colonel's  more  active  mind  busied  itself  with  the 
problem  suggested  by  this  unforeseen  meeting.  Peter 
and  he  had  both  gone  out  into  the  world,  and  they  had 
both  returned.  He  had  come  back  rich  and  independent. 
What  good  had  freedom  done  for  Peter  ?  In  the  colonel's 
childhood  his  father's  butler,  old  Madison,  had  lived  a  life 
which,  compared  to  that  of  Peter  at  the  same  age,  was  one 
of  ease  and  luxury.  How  easy  the  conclusion  that  the 
slave's  lot  had  been  the  more  fortunate !  But  no,  Peter  had 
been  better  free.  There  were  plenty  of  poor  white  men, 
and  no  one  had  suggested  slavery  as  an  improvement  of 
their  condition.  Had  Peter  remained  a  slave,  then  the 
colonel  would  have  remained  a  master,  which  was  only 
another  form  of  slavery.  The  colonel  had  been  emanci- 
pated by  the  same  token  that  had  made  Peter  free.  Peter 
had  returned  home  poor  and  broken,  not  because  he  had 
been  free,  but  because  nature  first,  and  society  next,  in 
distributing  their  gifts,  had  been  niggardly  with  old  Peter. 
Had  he  been  better  equipped,  or  had  a  better  chance,  he 
might  have  made  a  better  showing.  The  colonel  had  pros- 
pered because,  having  no  Peters  to  work  for  him,  he  had 


30  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

been  compelled  to  work  for  himself.  He  would  set  his 
own  success  against  Peter's  failure;  and  he  would  take 
off  his  hat  to  the  memory  of  the  immortal  statesman,  who 
in  freeing  one  race  had  emancipated  another  and  struck 
the  shackles  from  a  Nation's  mind. 


CHAPTER  IV 

While  the  colonel  and  old  Peter  were  thus  discussing 
reminiscences  in  which  little  Phil  could  have  no  share,  the 
boy,  with  childish  curiosity,  had  wandered  off,  down  one 
of  the  shaded  paths.  When,  a  little  later,  the  colonel 
looked  around  for  him,  he  saw  Phil  seated  on  a  rustic 
bench,  in  conversation  with  a  lady.  As  the  boy  seemed 
entirely  comfortable,  and  the  lady  not  at  all  disturbed,  the 
colonel  did  not  interrupt  them  for  a  while.  But  when 
the  lady  at  length  rose,  holding  Phil  by  the  hand,  the 
colonel,  fearing  that  the  boy,  who  was  a  child  of  strong 
impulses,  prone  to  sudden  friendships,  might  be  proving 
troublesome,  left  his  seat  on  the  flat-topped  tomb  of  his 
Revolutionary  ancestor  and  hastened  to  meet  them. 

"I  trust  my  boy  hasn't  annoyed  you,"  he  said,  lifting 
his  hat. 

"Not  at  all,  sir,"  returned  the  lady,  in  a  clear,  sweet 
voice,  some  haunting  tone  of  which  found  an  answering 
vibration  in  the  colonel's  memory.  "On  the  contrary,  he 
has  interested  me  very  much,  and  in  nothing  more  than  in 
telling  me  his  name.  If  this  and  my  memory  do  not 
deceive  me,  you  are  Henry  French!" 

"Yes,  and  you  are — you  are  Laura  Treadwell!  How 
glad  I  am  to  meet  you  I  I  was  coming  to  call  this  after- 
noon." 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  again.  We  have  always  remem- 
bered you,  and  knew  that  you  had  grown  rich  and  great, 
and  feared  that  you  had  forgotten  the  old  town — and  your 
old  friends." 

31 


32  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

"Not  very  rich,  nor  very  great,  Laura — Miss  Tread- 
well." 

"  Let  it  be  Laura,"  she  said  with  a  faint  colour  mount- 
ing in  her  cheek,  which  had  not  yet  lost  its  smoothness, 
as  her  eyes  had  not  faded,  nor  her  step  lost  its  spring. 

"And  neither  have  I  forgotten  the  old  home  nor  the 
old  friends — since  I  am  here  and  knew  you  the  moment  I 
looked  at  you  and  heard  your  voice." 

"And  what  a  dear  little  boy!"  exclaimed  Miss  Tread- 
well,  looking  down  at  Phil.  "He  is  named  Philip — after 
his  grandfather,  I  reckon  ?  " 

"After  his  grandfather.  We  have  been  visiting  his 
grave,  and  those  of  all  the  Frenches;  and  I  found  them 
haunted — by  an  old  retainer,  who  had  come  hither,  he 
said,  to  be  with  his  friends." 

"Old  Peter!  I  see  him,  now  and  then,  keeping  the  lot 
in  order.  There  are  few  like  him  left,  and  there  were  never 
any  too  many.  But  how  have  you  been  these  many 
years,  and  where  is  your  wife?  Did  you  bring  her  with 
you?" 

"I  buried  her,"  returned  the  colonel,  "a  little  over  a 
year  ago.     She  left  me  little  Phil." 

"He  must  be  like  her,"  replied  the  lady,  "and  yet  he 
resembles  you." 

"He  has  her  eyes  and  hair,"  said  his  father.  "He  is  a 
good  little  boy  and  a  lad  of  taste.  See  how  he  took  to  you 
at  first  sight!  I  can  always  trust  Phil's  instincts.  He  is 
a  born  gentleman." 

"He  came  of  a  race  of  gentlemen,"  she  said.  "I'm 
glad  it  is  not  to  die  out.  There  are  none  too  many  left 
— in  Clarendon.  You  are  going  to  like  me,  aren't  you, 
Phil  ?"  asked  the  lady. 

"I  like  you  already,"  replied  Phil  gallantly.  "You  are 
a  very  nice  lady.    What  shall  I  call  you  ?  " 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  33 

"Call  her  Miss  Laura,  Phil — it  is  the  Southern  fashion 
— a  happy  union  of  familiarity  and  respect.  Already  they 
come  back  to  me,  Laura — one  breathes  them  with  the  air 
— the  gentle  Southern  customs.  With  all  the  faults  of  the 
old  system,  Laura — it  carried  the  seeds  of  decay  within 
itself  and  was  doomed  to  perish — a  few  of  us,  at  least,  had 
a  good  time.  An  aristocracy  is  quite  endurable,  for  the 
aristocrat,  and  slavery  tolerable,  for  the  masters — and  the 
Peters.  When  we  were  young,  before  the  rude  hand  of 
war  had  shattered  our  illusions,  we  were  very  happy, 
Laura." 

"Yes,  we  were  very  happy." 

They  were  walking  now,  very  slowly,  toward  the  gate 
by  which  the  colonel  had  entered,  with  little  Phil  between 
them,  confiding  a  hand  to  each. 

"And  how  is  your  mother?"  asked  the  colonel.  "She 
is  living  yet,  I  trust?" 

"  Yes,  but  ailing,  as  she  has  been  for  fifteen  years — ever 
since  my  father  died.     It  was  his  grave  I  came  to  visit." 

"You  had  ever  a  loving  heart,  Laura,"  said  the  colonel, 
"given  to  duty  and  self-sacrifice.  Are  you  still  living  in 
the  old  place?" 

"The  old  place,  only  it  is  older,  and  shows  it — like  the 
rest  of  us." 

She  bit  her  lip  at  the  words,  which  she  meant  in  refer- 
ence to  herself,  but  which  she  perceived,  as  soon  as  she 
had  uttered  them,  might  apply  to  him  with  equal  force. 
Despising  herself  for  the  weakness  which  he  might  have 
interpreted  as  a  bid  for  a  compliment,  she  was  glad  that 
he  seemed  unconscious  of  the  remark. 

The  colonel  and  Phil  had  entered  the  cemetery  by 
a  side  gate  and  their  exit  led  through  the  main  entrance. 
Miss  Laura  pointed  out,  as  they  walked  slowly  along 
between  the  elms,  the  graves  of  many  whom  the  colonel 


34  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

had  known  in  his  younger  days.  Their  names,  woven  in 
the  tapestry  of  his  memory,  needed  in  most  cases  but  a 
touch  to  restore  them.  For  while  his  intellectual  life  had 
ranged  far  and  wide,  his  business  career  had  run  along 
a  single  channel,  his  circle  of  intimates  had  not  been  very 
large  nor  very  variable,  nor  was  his  memory  so  overlaid 
that  he  could  not  push  aside  its  later  impressions  in  favour 
of  those  graven  there  so  deeply  in  his  youth. 

Nearing  the  gate,  they  passed  a  small  open  space  in 
which  stood  a  simple  marble  shaft,  erected  to  the  memory 
of  the  Confederate  Dead.  A  wealth  of  fresh  flowers  lay 
at  its  base.  The  colonel  took  off  his  hat  as  he  stood  before 
it  for  a  moment  with  bowed  head.  But  for  the  mercy  of 
God,  he  might  have  been  one  of  those  whose  deaths  as 
well  as  deeds  were  thus  commemorated. 

Beyond  this  memorial,  impressive  in  its  pure  sim- 
plicity, and  between  it  and  the  gate,  in  an  obtrusively  con- 
spicuous spot  stood  a  florid  monument  of  granite,  marble 
and  bronze,  of  glaring  design  and  strangely  out  of  keeping 
with  the  simple  dignity  and  quiet  restfulness  of  the  sur- 
roundings; a  monument  so  striking  that  the  colonel  paused 
involuntarily  and  read  the  inscription  in  bronze  letters  on 
the  marble  shaft  above  the  granite  base: 

"  '  Sacred  to  the  Memory  of 
Joshua  Fetters  and  Elizabeth  Fetters,  his  Wife. 
"  'Life's  work  well  done, 
Life's  race  well  run, 
Life's  crown  well  won, 
Then  comes  rest.' 

"A  beautiful  sentiment,  if  somewhat  trite,"  said  the 
colonel,  "but  an  atrocious  monument." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  exclaimed  the  lady.  "  Most  people 
think  the  monument  fine,  but  smile  at  the  sentiment." 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  35 

"In  matters  of  taste,"  returned  the  colonel,  "the  major- 
ity are  always  wrong.  But  why  smile  at  the  sentiment? 
Is  it,  for  some  reason,  inappropriate  to  this  particular  case  ? 
Fetters — Fetters — the  name  seems  familiar.  Who  was 
Fetters,  Laura?" 

"He  was  the  speculator,"  she  said,  "who  bought  and 
sold  negroes,  and  kept  dogs  to  chase  runaways;  old  Mr. 
Fetters — you  must  remember  old  Josh  Fetters  ?  When  I 
was  a  child,  my  coloured  mammy  used  him  for  a  bogey- 
man for  me,  as  for  her  own  children." 

"'Look  out,  honey,'  she'd  say,  'ef  you  ain'  good,  ole 
Mr.  Fettuhs  '11  ketch  you.'" 

Yes,  he  remembered  now.  Fetters  had  been  a  charac- 
ter in  Clarendon — not  an  admirable  character,  scarcely  a 
good  character,  almost  a  bad  character;  a  necessary 
adjunct  of  an  evil  system,  and,  like  other  parasites,  worse 
than  the  body  on  which  he  fed;  doing  the  dirty  work  of 
slavery,  and  very  naturally  despised  by  those  whose  instru- 
ment he  was,  but  finding  consolation  by  taking  it  out  of  the 
Negroes  in  the  course  of  his  business.  The  colonel  would 
have  expected  Fetters  to  lie  in  an  unmarked  grave  in  his 
own  back  lot,  or  in  the  potter's  field.  Had  he  so  far 
escaped  the  ruin  of  the  institution  on  which  he  lived,  as  to 
leave  an  estate  sufficient  to  satisfy  his  heirs  and  also  pay  for 
this  expensive  but  vulgar  monument  ? 

"The  memorial  was  erected,  as  you  see  from  the  rest  of 
the  inscription,  'by  his  beloved  and  affectionate  son.' 
That  either  loved  the  other  no  one  suspected,  for  Bill  was 
harshly  treated,  and  ran  away  from  home  at  fifteen.  He 
came  back  after  the  war,  with  money,  which  he  lent  out  at 
high  rates  of  interest;  everything  he  touched  turned  to 
gold;  he  has  grown  rich,  and  is  a  great  man  in  the  State. 
He  was  a  large  contributor  to  the  soldiers'  monument." 

"But  did  not  choose  the  design;  let  us  be  thankful  for 


36  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

that.  It  might  have  been  like  his  father's.  Bill  Fetters 
rich  and  great,"  he  mused,  "who  would  have  dreamed  it? 
I  kicked  him  once,  all  the  way  down  Main  Street  from  the 
schoolhouse  to  the  bank — and  dodged  his  angry  mother 
for  a  whole  month  afterward ! " 

"No  one,"  suggested  Miss  Laura,  "would  venture  to 
cross  him  now.     Too  many  owe  him  money." 

"He  went  to  school  at  the  academy,"  the  colonel  went 
on,  unwinding  the  thread  of  his  memory,  "and  the  rest 
of  the  boys  looked  down  on  him  and  made  his  life  miser- 
able. Well,  Laura,  in  Fetters  you  see  one  thing  that 
resulted  from  the  war — the  poor  white  boy  was  given  a 
chance  to  grow;  and  if  the  product  is  not  as  yet  altogether 
admirable,  taste  and  culture  may  come  with  another 
generation." 

"It  is  to  be  hoped  they  may,"  said  Miss  Laura,  "and 
character  as  well.  Mr.  Fetters  has  a  son  who  has  gone 
from  college  to  college,  and  will  graduate  from  Harvard 
this  summer.  They  say  he  is  very  wild  and  spends  ten 
thousand  dollars  a  year.  I  do  not  see  how  it  can  be  pos- 
sible!" 

The  colonel  smiled  at  her  simplicity. 

"I  have  been,"  he  said,  "at  a  college  football  game, 
where  the  gate  receipts  were  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and 
half  a  million  was  said  to  have  changed  hands  in  bets  on 
the  result.     It  is  easy  to  waste  money." 

"It  is  a  sin,"  she  said,  "that  some  should  be  made  poor, 
that  others  may  have  it  to  waste." 

There  was  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  her  tone,  the  instinc- 
tive resentment  (the  colonel  thought)  of  the  born  aristocrat 
toward  the  upstart  who  had  pushed  his  way  above  those 
no  longer  strong  enough  to  resist.  It  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  her  feeling  might  rest  upon  any  personal  ground.  It 
was  inevitable  that,  with  the  incubus  of  slavery  removed, 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  37 

society  should  readjust  itself  in  due  time  upon  a  democratic 
basis,  and  that  poor  white  men,  first,  and  black  men  next, 
should  reach  a  level  representing  the  true  measure  of  their 
talents  and  their  ambition.  But  it  was  perhaps  equally 
inevitable  that  for  a  generation  or  two  those  who  had  suf- 
fered most  from  the  readjustment,  should  chafe  under  its 
seeming  injustice. 

The  colonel  was  himself  a  gentleman,  and  the  descen- 
dant of  a  long  line  of  gentlemen.  But  he  had  lived  too  many 
years  among  those  who  judged  the  tree  by  its  fruit,  to  think 
that  blood  alone  entitled  him  to  any  special  privileges. 
The  consciousness  of  honourable  ancestry  might  make  one 
clean  of  life,  gentle  of  manner,  and  just  in  one's  dealings. 
In  so  far  as  it  did  this  it  was  something  to  be  cherished,  but 
scarcely  to  be  boasted  of,  for  democracy  is  impatient  of  any 
excellence  not  born  of  personal  effort,  of  any  pride  save 
that  of  achievement.  He  was  glad  that  Fetters  had  got 
on  in  the  world.  It  justified  a  fine  faith  in  humanity,  that 
wealth  and  power  should  have  been  attained  by  the  poor 
white  lad,  over  whom,  with  a  boy's  unconscious  brutality, 
he  had  tyrannised  in  his  childhood.  He  could  have  wished 
for  Bill  a  better  taste  in  monuments,  and  better  luck  in 
sons,  if  rumour  was  correct  about  Fetters's  boy.  But, 
these,  perhaps,  were  points  where  blood  did  tell.  There 
was  something  in  blood,  after  all,  Nature  might  make 
a  great  man  from  any  sort  of  material :  hence  the  virtue  of 
democracy,  for  the  world  needs  great  men,  and  suffers 
from  their  lack,  and  welcomes  them  from  any  source. 
But  fine  types  were  a  matter  of  breeding  and  were 
perhaps  worth  the  trouble  of  preserving,  if  their  existence 
were  compatible  with  the  larger  good.  He  wondered  if 
Bill  ever  recalled  that  progress  down  Main  Street  in  which 
he  had  played  so  conspicuous  a  part,  or  still  bore  any 
resentment  toward  the  other  participants  ? 


38  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

"  Could  your  mother  see  me,"  he  asked,  as  they  reached 
the  gate,  "if  I  went  by  the  house  ?" 

"She  would  be  glad  to  see  you.  Mother  lives  in  the 
past,  and  you  would  come  to  her  as  part  of  it.  She  often 
speaks  of  you.  It  is  only  a  short  distance.  You  have  not 
forgotten  the  way?" 

They  turned  to  the  right,  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that 
from  which  the  colonel  had  reached  the  cemetery.  After 
a  few  minutes'  walk,  in  the  course  of  which  they  crossed 
another  bridge  over  the  same  winding  creek,  they  mounted 
the  slope  beyond,  opened  a  gate,  climbed  a  short  flight  of 
stone  steps  and  found  themselves  in  an  enchanted  garden, 
where  lilac  bush  and  jessamine  vine  reared  their  heads 
high,  tulip  and  daffodil  pushed  their  way  upward,  but  were 
all  dominated  by  the  intenser  fragrance  of  the  violets. 

Old  Peter  had  followed  the  party  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance, but,  seeing  himself  forgotten,  he  walked  past  the 
gate,  after  they  had  entered  it,  and  went,  somewhat  dis- 
consolately, on  his  way.  He  had  stopped,  and  was  looking 
back  toward  the  house — Clarendon  was  a  great  place  for 
looking  back,  perhaps  because  there  was  little  in  the  town 
to  which  to  look  forward — when  a  white  man,  wearing  a 
tinned  badge  upon  his  coat,  came  up,  took  Peter  by  the 
arm  and  led  him  away,  despite  some  feeble  protests  on  the 
old  man's  part. 


CHAPTER  V 

At  the  end  of  the  garden  stood  a  frame  house  with  a 
wide,  columned  porch.  It  had  once  been  white,  and  the 
windows  closed  with  blinds  that  still  retained  a  faded  tint 
of  green.  Upon  the  porch,  in  a  comfortable  arm  chair, 
sat  an  old  lady,  wearing  a  white  cap,  under  which  her 
white  hair  showed  at  the  sides,  and  holding  her  hands, 
upon  which  she  wore  black  silk  mits,  crossed  upon  her 
lap.  On  the  top  step,  at  opposite  ends,  sat  two  young 
people — one  of  them  a  rosy-cheeked  girl,  in  the  bloom  of 
early  youth,  with  a  head  of  rebellious  brown  hair.  She 
had  been  reading  a  book  held  open  in  her  hand.  The 
other  was  a  long-legged,  lean,  shy  young  man,  of  apparently 
twenty-three  or  twenty-four,  with  black  hair  and  eyes  and 
a  swarthy  complexion.  From  the  jack-knife  beside  him, 
and  the  shavings  scattered  around,  it  was  clear  that  he 
had  been  whittling  out  the  piece  of  pine  that  he  was  adjust- 
ing, with  some  nicety,  to  a  wooden  model  of  some  mechan- 
ical contrivance  which  stood  upon  the  floor  beside  him. 
They  were  a  strikingly  handsome  couple,  of  ideally  con- 
trasting types. 

"Mother,"  said  Miss  Treadwell,  "this  is  Henry  French 
— Colonel  French — who  has  come  back  from  the  North 
to  visit  his  old  home  and  the  graves  of  his  ancestors.  I 
found  him  in  the  cemetery;  and  this  is  his  dear  little  boy, 
Philip — named  after  his  grandfather." 

The  old  lady  gave  the  colonel  a  slender  white  hand,  thin 
almost  to  transparency. 

"Henry,"  she  said,  in  a  silvery  thread  of  voice,  "I  am 

39 


40  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

glad  to  see  you.  You  must  excuse  my  not  rising — I  can't 
walk  without  help.  You  are  like  your  father,  and  even 
more  like  your  grandfather,  and  your  little  boy  takes  after 
the  family."     She  drew  Phil  toward  her  and  kissed  him. 

Phil  accepted  this  attention  amiably.  Meantime  the 
young  people  had  risen. 

"This,"  said  Miss  Treadwell,  laying  her  hand  affection- 
ately on  the  girl's  arm,  "is  my  niece  Graciella — my 
brother  Tom's  child.  Tom  is  dead,  you  know,  these 
eight  years  and  more,  and  so  is  Graciella's  mother,  and 
she  has  lived  with  us." 

Graciella  gave  the  colonel  her  hand  with  engaging  frank- 
ness. "I'm  sure  we're  awfully  glad  to  see  anybody  from 
the  North,"  she  said.  "Are  you  familiar  with  New 
York?" 

"I  left  there  only  day  before  yesterday,"  replied  the 
colonel. 

"And  this,"  said  Miss  Treadwell,  introducing  the  young 
man,  who,  when  he  unfolded  his  long  legs,  rose  to  a  rather 
imposing  height,  "this  is  Mr.  Ben  Dudley." 

"The  son  of  Malcolm  Dudley,  of  Mink  Run,  I  suppose  ? 
I'm  glad  to  meet  you,"  said  the  colonel,  giving  the  young 
man's  hand  a  cordial  grasp. 

"His  nephew,  sir,"  returned  young  Dudley.  "My 
uncle  never  married." 

"Oh,  indeed?  I  did  not  know;  but  he  is  alive,  I  trust, 
and  well?" 

"Alive,  sir,  but  very  much  broken.  He  has  not  been 
himself  for  years." 

"You  find  things  sadly  changed,  Henry,"  said  Mrs. 
Treadwell.  "They  have  never  been  the  same  since  the 
surrender.  Our  people  are  poor  now,  right  poor,  most 
of  them,  though  we  ourselves  were  fortunate  enough  to 
have  something  left." 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  41 


"We  have  enough  left  for  supper,  mother,"  interposed 
Miss  Laura  quickly,  "to  which  we  are  going  to  ask 
Colonel  French  to  stay." 

"I  suppose  that  in  New  York  every  one  has  dinner  at 
six,  and  supper  after  the  theatre  or  the  concert?"  said 
Graciella,   inquiringly. 

"The  fortunate  few,"  returned  the  colonel,  smiling  into 
her  eager  face,  "  who  can  afford  a  seat  at  the  opera,  and 
to  pay  for  and  digest  two  meals,  all  in  the  same  evening." 

"And  now,  colonel,"  said  Miss  Treadwell,  "I'm  going 
to  see  about  the  supper.  Mother  will  talk  to  you  while 
I  am  gone." 

"I  must  be  going,"  said  young  Dudley. 

"Won't  you  stay  to  supper,  Ben?"  asked  Miss  Laura. 

"No,  Miss  Laura;  I'd  like  to,  but  uncle  wasn't  well 
to-day  and  I  must  stop  by  the  drug  store  and  get  some 
medicine  for  him.  Dr.  Price  gave  me  a  prescription  on 
my  way  in.  Good-bye,  sir,"  he  added,  addressing  the 
colonel.     "Will  you  be  in  town  long?" 

"I  really  haven't  decided.  A  day  or  two,  perhaps  a 
week.  I  am  not  bound,  at  present,  by  any  business 
ties — am  foot-loose,  as  we  used  to  say  when  I  was  young. 
I  shall  follow  my  inclinations." 

"Then  I  hope,  sir,  that  you'll  feel  inclined  to  pay  us 
a  long  visit  and  that  I  shall  see  you  many  times." 

As  Ben  Dudley,  after  this  courteous  wish,  stepped 
down  from  the  piazza,  Graciella  rose  and  walked  with  him 
along  the  garden  path.  She  was  tall  as  most  women,  but 
only  reached  his  shoulder. 

"Say,  Graciella,"  he  asked,  "won't  you  give  me  an 
answer." 

"I'm  thinking  about  it,  Ben.  If  you  could  take  me 
away  from  this  dead  old  town,  with  its  lazy  white  people 
and  its  trifling  niggers,  to  a  place  where  there's  music 


42  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

and  art,  and  life  and  society — where  there's  something 
going  on  all  the  time,  I'd  like  to  marry  you.  But  if  I  did 
so  now,  you'd  take  me  out  to  your  rickety  old  house,  with 
your  daffy  old  uncle  and  his  dumb  old  housekeeper,  and  I 
should  lose  my  own  mind  in  a  week  or  ten  days.  When 
you  can  promise  to  take  me  to  New  York,  I'll  promise 
to  marry  you,  Ben.  I  want  to  travel,  and  to  see  things, 
to  visit  the  art  galleries  and  libraries,  to  hear  Patti,  and  to 
look  at  the  millionaires  promenading  on  Fifth  Avenue — 
and  I'll  marry  the  man  who'll  take  me  there!" 

"Uncle  Malcolm  can't  live  forever,  Graciella — though 
I  wouldn't  wish  his  span  shortened  by  a  single  day — and 
I'll  get  the  plantation.  And  then,  you  know,"  he  added, 
hesitating,  "we  may — we  may  find  the  money." 

Graciella  shook  her  head  compassionately.  "No,  Ben, 
you'll  never  find  the  money.  There  isn't  any;  it's  all 
imagination — moonshine.  The  war  unsettled  your  uncle's 
brain,  and  he  dreamed  the  money." 

"It's  as  true  as  I'm  standing  here,  Graciella,"  replied 
Ben,  earnestly,  "that  there's  money — gold — somewhere 
about  the  house.  Uncle  couldn't  imagine  paper  and  ink, 
and  I've  seen  the  letter  from  my  uncle's  uncle  Ralph — 
I'll  get  it  and  bring  it  to  you.  Some  day  the  money  will 
turn  up,  and  then  may  be  I'll  be  able  to  take  you  away. 
Meantime  some  one  must  look  after  uncle  and  the  place; 
there's  no  one  else  but  me  to  do  it.  Things  must  grow 
better  some  time — they  always  do,  you  know." 

"They  couldn't  be  much  worse,"  returned  Graciella, 
discontentedly. 

"Oh,  they'll  be  better— they're  bound  to  be!  They'll 
just  have  to  be.  And  you'll  wait  for  me,  won't  you, 
Graciella?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  I'll  have  to.  You're  around  here  so 
much  that  every  one  else  is  scared  away,  and  there  isn't 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  43 

much  choice  at  the  best;  all  the  young  men  worth  having 
are  gone  away  already.  But  you  know  my  ultimatum — 
I  must  get  to  New  York.  If  you  are  ready  before  any  one 
else  speaks,  you  may  take  me  there." 

"You're  hard  on  a  poor  devil,  Graciella.  I  don't 
believe  you  care  a  bit  for  me,  or  you  wouldn't  talk  like 
that.  Don't  you  suppose  I  have  any  feelings,  even  if 
I  ain't  much  account?  Ain't  I  worth  as  much  as  a  trip 
up  North?" 

"Why  should  I  waste  my  time  with  you,  if  I  didn't  care 
for  you?"  returned  Graciella,  begging  the  question. 
"Here's  a  rose,  in  token  of  my  love." 

She  plucked  the  flower  and  thrust  it  into  his  hand. 

"It's  full  of  thorns,  like  your  love,"  he  said  ruefully, 
as  he  picked  the  sharp  points  out  of  his  fingers. 

"  'Faithful  are  the  wounds  of  a  friend,'  "  returned 
the  girl.     " See  Psalms,  xxvii :  6." 

"Take  care  of  my  cotton  press,  Graciella;  I'll  come  in 
to-morrow  evening  and  work  on  it  some  more.  I'll 
bring  some  cotton  along  to  try  it  with." 

"You'll  probably  find  some  excuse — you  always  do." 

"Don't  you  want  me  to  come?"  he  asked  with  a  trace  of 
resentment.     "  I  can  stay  away,  if  you  don't." 

"Oh,  you  come  so  often  that  I — I  suppose  I'd  miss  you, 
if  you  didn't!  One  must  have  some  company,  and  half 
a  loaf  is  better  than  no  bread." 

He  went  on  down  the  hill,  turning  at  the  corner  for  a 
lingering  backward  look  at  his  tyrant.  Graciella,  bending 
her  head  over  the  wall,  followed  his  movements  with  a 
swift  tenderness  in  her  sparkling  brown  eyes. 

"I  love  him  better  than  anything  on  earth,"  she  sighed, 
"but  it  would  never  do  to  tell  him  so.  He'd  get  so  con- 
ceited that  I  couldn't  manage  him  any  longer,  and  so  lazy 
that  he'd  never  exert  himself.     I  must  get  away  from  this 


44  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

town  before  I'm  old  and  gray — I'll  be  seventeen  next 
week,  and  an  old  maid  in  next  to  no  time — and  Ben  must 
take  me  away.  But  I  must  be  his  inspiration;  he'd  never 
do  it  by  himself.  I'll  go  now  and  talk  to  that  dear  old 
Colonel  French  about  the  North;  I  can  learn  a  great  deal 
from  him.  And  he  doesn't  look  so  old  either,"  she  mused, 
as  she  went  back  up  the  walk  to  where  the  colonel  sat  on 
the  piazza  talking  to  the  other  ladies. 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  colonel  spent  a  delightful  evening  in  the  company 
of  his  friends.  The  supper  was  typically  Southern,  and 
the  cook  evidently  a  good  one.  There  was  smothered 
chicken,  light  biscuit,  fresh  eggs,  poundcake  and  tea. 
The  tablecloth  and  napkins  were  of  fine  linen.  That 
they  were  soft  and  smooth  the  colonel  noticed,  but  he  did 
not  observe  closely  enough  to  see  that  they  had  been  care- 
fully darned  in  many  places.  The  silver  spoons  were  of 
fine,  old-fashioned  patterns,  worn  very  thin — so  thin  that 
even  the  colonel  was  struck  by  their  fragility.  How 
charming,  he  thought,  to  prefer  the  simple  dignity 
of  the  past  to  the  vulgar  ostentation  of  a  more  modern 
time.  He  had  once  dined  off  a  golden  dinner  service,  at  the 
table  of  a  multi-millionaire,  and  had  not  enjoyed  the  meal 
half  so  much.  The  dining  room  looked  out  upon  the 
garden  and  the  perfume  of  lilac  and  violet  stole  in  through 
the  open  windows.  A  soft-footed,  shapely,  well-trained 
negro  maid,  in  white  cap  and  apron,  waited  deftly  upon 
the  table;  a  woman  of  serious  countenance — so  serious 
that  the  colonel  wondered  if  she  were  a  present-day  type 
of  her  race,  and  if  the  responsibilities  of  freedom  had 
robbed  her  people  of  their  traditional  light-heartedness 
and  gaiety. 

After  supper  they  sat  out  upon  the  piazza.  The  lights 
within  were  turned  down  low,  so  that  the  moths  and 
other  insects  might  not  be  attracted.  Sweet  odours 
from  the  garden  filled  the  air.  Through  the  elms  the 
stars,  brighter  than  in  more  northern  latitudes,  looked  out 

45 


46  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

from  a  sky  of  darker  blue;  so  bright  were  they  that  the 
colonel,  looking  around  for  the  moon,  was  surprised  to 
find  that  luminary  invisible.  On  the  green  background 
of  the  foliage  the  fireflies  glowed  and  flickered.  There 
was  no  strident  steam  whistle  from  factory  or  train  to 
assault  the  ear,  no  rumble  of  passing  cabs  or  street  cars. 
Far  away,  in  some  distant  part  of  the  straggling  town,  a 
sweet-toned  bell  sounded  the  hour  of  an  evening  church 
service. 

"To  see  you  is  a  breath  from  the  past,  Henry,"  said 
Mrs.  Treadwell.  "You  are  a  fine,  strong  man  now,  but 
I  can  see  you  as  you  were,  the  day  you  went  away  to  the 
war,  in  your  new  gray  uniform,  on  your  fine  gray  horse, 
at  the  head  of  your  company.  You  were  going  to  take 
Peter  with  you,  but  he  had  got  his  feet  poisoned  with  poison 
ivy,  and  couldn't  walk,  and  your  father  gave  you  another 
boy,  and  Peter  cried  like  a  baby  at  being  left  behind.  I 
can  remember  how  proud  you  were,  and  how  proud  your 
father  was,  when  he  gave  you  his  sword — your  grand- 
father's sword,  and  told  you  never  to  draw  it  or  sheath  it, 
except  in  honour;  and  how,  when  you  were  gone,  the  old 
gentleman  shut  himself  up  for  two  whole  days  and  would 
speak  to  no  one.  He  was  glad  and  sorry — glad  to  send 
you  to  fight  for  your  country,  and  sorry  to  see  you  go — for 
you  were  his  only  boy." 

The  colonel  thrilled  with  love  and  regret.  His  father 
had  loved  him,  he  knew  very  well,  and  he  had  not  visited 
his  tomb  for  twenty-five  years.  How  far  away  it  seemed 
too,  the  time  when  he  had  thought  of  the  Confederacy  as 
his  country!  And  the  sword,  his  grandfather's  sword, 
had  been  for  years  stored  away  in  a  dark  closet.  His 
father  had  kept  it  displayed  upon  the  drawing-room  wall, 
over  the  table  on  which  the  family  Bible  had  rested. 

Mrs.  Treadwell  was  silent  for  a  moment. 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  47 

"Times  have  changed  since  then,  Henry.  We  have 
lost  a  great  deal,  although  we  still  have  enough — yes,  we 
have  plenty  to  live  upon,  and  to  hold  up  our  heads  among 
the  best." 

Miss  Laura  and  Graciella,  behind  the  colonel's  back, 
exchanged  meaning  glances.  How  well  they  knew  how 
little  they  had  to  live  upon! 

"That  is  quite  evident,"  said  the  colonel,  glancing 
through  the  window  at  the  tasteful  interior,  "and  I  am 
glad  to  see  that  you  have  fared  so  well.  My  father  lost 
everything." 

"We  were  more  fortunate,"  said  Mrs.  Treadwell.  "We 
were  obliged  to  let  Belleview  go  when  Major  Treadwell 
died — there  were  debts  to  be  paid,  and  we  were  robbed 
as  well — but  we  have  several  rentable  properties  in  town, 
and  an  estate  in  the  country  which  brings  us  in  an  income. 
But  things  are  not  quite  what  they  used  to  be ! " 

Mrs.  Treadwell  sighed,  and  nodded.  Miss  Laura  sat 
in  silence — a  pensive  silence.  She,  too,  remembered 
the  time  gone  by,  but  unlike  her  mother's  life,  her  own 
had  only  begun  as  the  good  times  were  ending.  Her 
mother,  in  her  youth,  had  seen  something  of  the  world. 
The  daughter  of  a  wealthy  planter,  she  had  spent  her 
summers  at  Saratoga,  had  visited  New  York  and  Phila- 
delphia and  New  Orleans,  and  had  taken  a  voyage  to 
Europe.  Graciella  was  young  and  beautiful.  Her  prince 
might  come,  might  be  here  even  now,  if  this  grand  gentle- 
man should  chance  to  throw  the  handkerchief.  But  she, 
Laura,  had  passed  her  youth  in  a  transition  period;  the 
pleasures  neither  of  memory  nor  of  hope  had  been  hers — 
except  such  memories  as  came  of  duty  well  performed, 
and  such  hopes  as  had  no  root  in  anything  earthly  or  cor- 
ruptible. 

Graciella  was  not  in  a  reflective  mood,  and  took  up  the 


48  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

burden  of  the  conversation  where  her  grandmother  had 
dropped  it.  Her  thoughts  were  not  of  the  past,  but  of 
the  future.  She  asked  many  eager  questions  of  New 
York.  Was  it  true  that  ladies  at  the  Waldorf-Astoria 
always  went  to  dinner  in  low-cut  bodices  with  short 
sleeves,  and  was  evening  dress  always  required  at  the 
theatre?  Did  the  old  Knickerbocker  families  recognise 
the  Vanderbilts?  Were  the  Rockefellers  anything  at  all 
socially?  Did  he  know  Ward  McAllister,  at  that  period 
the  Beau  Brummel  of  the  metropolitan  smart  set  ?  Was 
Fifth  Avenue  losing  its  pre-eminence  ?  On  what  days  of 
the  week  was  the  Art  Museum  free  to  the  public  ?  What 
was  the  fare  to  New  York,  and  the  best  quarter  of  the  city 
in  which  to  inquire  for  a  quiet,  select  boarding  house  where 
a  Southern  lady  of  refinement  and  good  family  might  stay 
at  a  reasonable  price,  and  meet  some  nice  people?  And 
would  he  recommend  stenography  or  magazine  work, 
and  which  did  he  consider  preferable,  as  a  career  which 
such  a  young  lady  might  follow  without  injury  to  her 
social  standing? 

The  colonel,  with  some  amusement,  answered  these 
artless  inquiries  as  best  he  could;  they  came  as  a  refresh- 
ing foil  to  the  sweet  but  melancholy  memories  of  the  past. 
They  were  interesting,  too,  from  this  very  pretty  but  very 
ignorant  little  girl  in  this  backward  little  Southern  town. 
She  was  a  flash  of  sunlight  through  a  soft  gray  cloud;  a 
vigorous  shoot  from  an  old  moss-covered  stump — she 
was  life,  young  life,  the  vital  principle,  breaking  through 
the  cumbering  envelope,  and  asserting  its  right  to  reach 
the  sun. 

After  a  while  a  couple  of  very  young  ladies,  friends  of 
Graciella,  dropped  in.  They  were  introduced  to  the 
colonel,  who  found  that  he  had  known  their  fathers,  or 
their  mothers,  or  their  grandfathers,  or  their  grandmothers, 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  49 

and  that  many  of  them  were  more  or  less  distantly  related. 
A  little  later  a  couple  of  young  men,  friends  of  Graciella's 
friends — also  very  young,  and  very  self-conscious — made 
their  appearance,  and  were  duly  introduced,  in  person 
and  by  pedigree.  The  conversation  languished  for  a 
moment,  and  then  one  of  the  young  ladies  said  something 
about  music,  and  one  of  the  young  men  remarked  that 
he  had  brought  over  a  new  song.  Graciella  begged  the 
colonel  to  excuse  them,  and  led  the  way  to  the  parlour, 
followed  by  her  young  friends. 

Mrs.  Treadwell  had  fallen  asleep,  and  was  leaning 
comfortably  back  in  her  armchair.  Miss  Laura  excused 
herself,  brought  a  veil,  and  laid  it  softly  across  her  mother's 
face. 

"The  night  air  is  not  damp,"  she  said,  "and  it  is  pleas- 
anter  for  her  here  than  in  the  house.  She  won't  mind  the 
music;  she  is  accustomed  to  it." 

Graciella  went  to  the  piano  and  with  great  boldness 
of  touch  struck  the  bizarre  opening  chords  and  then 
launched  into  the  grotesque  words  of  the  latest  New  York 
"coon  song,"  one  of  the  first  and  worst  of  its  kind,  and 
the  other  young  people  joined  in  the  chorus. 

It  was  the  first  discordant  note.  At  home,  the  colonel 
subscribed  to  the  opera,  and  enjoyed  the  music.  A 
plantation  song  of  the  olden  time,  as  he  remembered  it, 
borne  upon  the  evening  air,  when  sung  by  the  tired  slaves 
at  the  end  of  their  day  of  toil,  would  have  been  pleasing, 
with  its  simple  melody,  its  plaintive  minor  strains,  its 
notes  of  vague  longing;  but  to  the  colonel's  senses  there 
was  to-night  no  music  in  this  hackneyed  popular  favourite. 
In  a  metropolitan  music  hall,  gaudily  bedecked  and 
brilliantly  lighted,  it  would  have  been  tolerable  from  the 
lips  of  a  black-face  comedian.  But  in  this  quiet  place, 
upon  this  quiet  night,  and  in  the  colonel's  mood,  it  seemed 


50  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

like  profanation.  The  song  of  the  coloured  girl,  who 
had  dreamt  that  she  dwelt  in  marble  halls,  and  the  rest, 
had  been  less  incongruous;  it  had  at  least  breathed  aspir- 
ation. 

Mrs.  Tread  well  was  still  dozing  in  her  armchair.  The 
colonel,  beckoning  Miss  Laura  to  follow  him,  moved  to 
the  farther  end  of  the  piazza,  where  they  might  not  hear 
the  singers  and  the  song. 

"It  is  delightful  here,  Laura.  I  seem  to  have  renewed 
my  youth.  I  yield  myself  a  willing  victim  to  the  charm 
of  the  old  place,  the  old  ways,  the  old  friends." 

"You  see  our  best  side,  Henry.  Night  has  a  kindly 
hand,  that  covers  our  defects,  and  the  starlight  throws 
a  glamour  over  everything.  You  see  us  through  a  haze 
of  tender  memories.  When  you  have  been  here  a  week, 
the  town  will  seem  dull,  and  narrow,  and  sluggish.  You 
will  find  us  ignorant  and  backward,  worshipping  our  old 
idols,  and  setting  up  no  new  ones;  our  young  men  leaving 
us,  and  none  coming  in  to  take  their  place.  Had  you, 
and  men  like  you,  remained  with  us,  we  might  have  hoped 
for  better  things." 

"And  perhaps  not,  Laura.  Environment  controls  the 
making  of  men.  Some  rise  above  it,  the  majority  do  not. 
We  might  have  followed  in  the  well-worn  rut.  But  let  us 
not  spoil  this  delightful  evening  by  speaking  of  anything 
sad  or  gloomy.  This  is  your  daily  life;  to  me  it  is  like  a 
scene  from  a  play,  over  which  one  sighs  to  see  the  curtain 
fall — all  enchantment,  all  light,  all  happiness." 

But  even  while  he  spoke  of  light,  a  shadow  loomed  up 
beside  them.  The  coloured  woman  who  had  waited  at 
the  table  came  around  the  house  from  the  back  yard  and 
stood  by  the  piazza  railing. 

"Miss  Laura!"  she  called,  softly  and  appealingly.  "Kin 
you  come  hyuh  a  minute  ?  " 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  51 

"What  is  it,  Catherine?" 

"Kin  I  speak  just  a  word  to  you,  ma'am?  It's  some- 
thin'  partic'lar — mighty  partic'lar,  ma'am." 

"Excuse  me  a  minute,  Henry,"  said  Miss  Laura, 
rising  with  evident  reluctance. 

She  stepped  down  from  the  piazza,  and  walked  beside 
the  woman  down  one  of  the  garden  paths.  The  colonel, 
as  he  sat  there  smoking — with  Miss  Laura's  permission 
he  had  lighted  a  cigar — could  see  the  light  stuff  of  the 
lady's  gown  against  the  green  background,  though  she 
was  walking  in  the  shadow  of  the  elms.  From  the  mur- 
mur which  came  to  him,  he  gathered  that  the  black  woman 
was  pleading  earnestly,  passionately,  and  he  could  hear 
Miss  Laura's  regretful  voice,  as  she  closed  the  interview: 

"I  am  sorry,  Catherine,  but  it  is  simply  impossible.  I 
would  if  I  could,  but  I  cannot." 

The  woman  came  back  first,  and  as  she  passed  by  an 
open  window,  the  light  fell  upon  her  face,  which  showed 
signs  of  deep  distress,  hardening  already  into  resignation 
or  despair.  She  was  probably  in  trouble  of  some  sort,  and 
her  mistress  had  not  been  able,  doubtless  for  some  good 
reason,  to  help  her  out.  This  suspicion  was  borne  out 
by  the  fact  that  when  Miss  Laura  came  back  to  him,  she 
too  seemed  troubled.  But  since  she  did  not  speak  of  the 
matter,  the  colonel  gave  no  sign  of  his  own  thoughts. 

"You  have  said  nothing  of  yourself,  Laura,"  he  said, 
wishing  to  divert  her  mind  from  anything  unpleasant. 
"Tell  me  something  of  your  own  life — it  could  only  be 
a  cheerful  theme,  for  you  have  means  and  leisure,  and  a 
perfect  environment.  Tell  me  of  your  occupations,  your 
hopes,  your  aspirations." 

"There  is  little  enough  to  tell,  Henry,"  she  returned, 
with  a  sudden  courage,  "but  that  little  shall  be  the  truth. 
You  will  find  it  out,  if  you  stay  long  in  town,  and  I  would 


52  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

rather  you  learned  it  from  our  lips  than  from  others  less 
friendly.  My  mother  is — my  mother — a  dear,  sweet 
woman  to  whom  I  have  devoted  my  life!  But  we  are  not 
well  off,  Henry.  Our  parlour  carpet  has  been  down  for 
twenty-five  years;  surely  you  must  have  recognised  the 
pattern!  The  house  has  not  been  painted  for  the  same 
length  of  time;  it  is  of  heart  pine,  and  we  train  the  flowers 
and  vines  to  cover  it  as  much  as  may  be,  and  there  are 
many  others  like  it,  so  it  is  not  conspicuous.  Our  rentable 
property  is  three  ramshackle  cabins  on  the  alley  at  the 
rear  of  the  lot,  for  which  we  get  four  dollars  a  month 
each,  when  we  can  collect  it.  Our  country  estate  is 
a  few  acres  of  poor  land,  which  we  rent  on  shares,  and 
from  which  we  get  a  few  bushels  of  corn,  an  occasional 
load  of  firewood,  and  a  few  barrels  of  potatoes.  As  for 
my  own  life,  I  husband  our  small  resources;  I  keep  the 
house,  and  wait  on  mother,  as  I  have  done  since  she 
became  helpless,  ten  years  ago.  I  look  after  Graciella. 
I  teach  in  the  Sunday  School,  and  I  give  to  those  less  for- 
tunate such  help  as  the  poor  can  give  the  poor." 

"How  did  you  come  to  lose  Belleview?"  asked  the 
colonel,  after  a  pause.  "I  had  understood  Major  Tread- 
well  to  be  one  of  the  few  people  around  here  who  weathered 
the  storm  of  war  and  emerged  financially  sound." 

"He  did;  and  he  remained  so — until  he  met  Mr. 
Fetters,  who  had  made  money  out  of  the  war  while 
all  the  rest  were  losing.  Father  despised  the  slave- 
trader's  son,  but  admired  his  ability  to  get  along. 
Fetters  made  his  acquaintance,  flattered  him,  told  him 
glowing  stories  of  wealth  to  be  made  by  speculating  in 
cotton  and  turpentine.  Father  was  not  a  business  man, 
but  he  listened.  Fetters  lent  him  money,  and  father  lent 
Fetters  money,  and  they  had  transactions  back  and  forth, 
and  jointly.     Father  lost  and  gained  and  we  had  no 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  53 

inkling  that  he  had  suffered  greatly,  until,  at  his  sudden 
death,  Fetters  foreclosed  a  mortgage  he  held  upon  Belle- 
view.  Mother  has  always  believed  there  was  something 
wrong  about  the  transaction,  and  that  father  was  not 
indebted  to  Fetters  in  any  such  sum  as  Fetters  claimed. 
But  we  could  find  no  papers  and  we  had  no  proof,  and 
Fetters  took  the  plantation  for  his  debt.  He  changed 
its  name  to  Sycamore;  he  wanted  a  post-office  there,  and 
there  were  too  many  Belleviews." 

"Does  he  own  it  still?" 

"Yes,  and  runs  it — with  convict  labour!  The  thought 
makes  me  shudder!  We  were  rich  when  he  was  poor; 
we  are  poor  and  he  is  rich.  But  we  trust  in  God,  who 
has  never  deserted  the  widow  and  the  fatherless.  By 
His  mercy  we  have  lived  and,  as  mother  says,  held  up  our 
heads,  not  in  pride  or  haughtiness,  but  in  self-respect, 
for  we  cannot  forget  what  we  were." 

"Nor  what  you  are,  Laura,  for  you  are  wonderful," 
said  the  colonel,  not  unwilling  to  lighten  a  situation  that 
bordered  on  intensity.  "You  should  have  married  and 
had  children.  The  South  needs  such  mothers  as  you 
would  have  made.  Unless  the  men  of  Clarendon  have 
lost  their  discernment,  unless  chivalry  has  vanished  and 
the  fire  died  out  of  the  Southern  blood,  it  has  not  been 
for  lack  of  opportunity  that  your  name  remains  un- 
changed." 

Miss  Laura's  cheek  flushed  unseen  in  the  shadow  of 
the  porch. 

"Ah,  Henry,  that  would  be  telling!  But  to  marry  me, 
one  must  have  married  the  family,  for  I  could  not  have 
left  them — they  have  had  only  me.  I  have  not  been 
unhappy.  I  do  not  know  that  I  would  have  had  my  life 
different." 

Graciella  and  her  friends  bad  finished  their  song,  the 


54  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

piano  had  ceased  to  sound,  and  the  visitors  were  taking 
their  leave.  Graciella  went  with  them  to  the  gate,  where 
they  stood  laughing  and  talking.  The  colonel  looked  at 
his  watch  by  the  light  of  the  open  door. 

"It  is  not  late,"  he  said.  "If  my  memory  is  true,  you 
too  played  the  piano  when  you — when  I  was  young." 

"It  is  the  same  piano,  Henry,  and,  like  our  life  here, 
somewhat  thin  and  weak  of  tone.  But  if  you  think  it 
would  give  you  pleasure,  I  will  play — as  well  as  I  know 
how." 

She  readjusted  the  veil,  which  had  slipped  from  her 
mother's  face,  and  they  went  into  the  parlour.  From 
a  pile  of  time-stained  music  she  selected  a  sheet  and  seated 
herself  at  the  piano.  The  colonel  stood  at  her  elbow. 
She  had  a  pretty  back,  he  thought,  and  a  still  youthful 
turn  of  the  head,  and  still  plentiful,  glossy  brown  hair. 
Her  hands  were  white,  slender  and  well  kept,  though  he 
saw  on  the  side  of  the  forefinger  of  her  left  hand  the  tell- 
tale marks  of  the  needle. 

The  piece  was  an  arrangement  of  the  well-known  air 
from  the  opera  of  Maritana: 

"  Scenes  that  are  brightest, 

May  charm  awhile, 
Hearts  which  are  lightest 

And  eyes  that  smile. 
Yet  o'er  them  above  us, 

Though  nature  beam, 
With  none  to  love  us, 

How  sad  they  seem  !  " 

Under  her  sympathetic  touch  a  gentle  stream  of  melody 
flowed  from  the  old-time  piano,  scarcely  stronger  toned 
in  its  decrepitude,  than  the  spinet  of  a  former  century. 
A  few  moments  before,  under  Graciella's  vigorous  hands, 
it  had  seemed  to  protest  at  the  dissonances  it  had  been 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  55 

compelled  to  emit;  now  it  seemed  to  breathe  the  notes 
of  the  old  opera  with  an  almost  human  love  and  tenderness. 
It,  too,  mused  the  colonel,  had  lived  and  loved  and  was 
recalling  the  memories  of  a  brighter  past. 

The  music  died  into  silence.  Mrs.  Treadwell  was  awake. 

"Laura!"  she  called. 

Miss  Treadwell  went  to  the  door. 

"I  must  have  been  nodding  for  a  minute.  I  hope 
Colonel  French  did  not  observe  it — it  would  scarcely 
seem  polite.     He  hasn't  gone  yet  ?" 

"No,  mother,  he  is  in  the  parlour." 

"I  must  be  going,"  said  the  colonel,  who  came  to  the 
door.  "I  had  almost  forgotten  Phil,  and  it  is  long  past 
his  bedtime." 

Miss  Laura  went  to  wake  up  Phil,  who  had  fallen 
asleep  after  supper.  He  was  still  rubbing  his  eyes  when 
the  lady  led  him  out. 

"Wake  up,  Phil,"  said  the  colonel.  "It's  time  to  be 
going.     Tell  the  ladies  good  night." 

Graciella  came  running  up  the  walk. 

"Why,  Colonel  French,"  she  cried,  "you  are  not  going 
already?  I  made  the  others  leave  early  so  that  I  might 
talk  to  you." 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  smiled  the  colonel,  "I  have 
already  risen  to  go,  and  if  I  stayed  longer  I  might  wear 
out  my  welcome,  and  Phil  would  surely  go  to  sleep  again. 
But  I  will  come  another  time — I  shall  stay  in  town  several 
days." 

"Yes,  do  come,  if  you  must  go,"  rejoined  Graciella  with 
emphasis.  "I  want  to  hear  more  about  the  North,  and 
about  New  York  society  and — oh,  everything!  Good 
night,  Philip.     Good  night,  Colonel  French." 

"Beware  of  the  steps,  Henry,"  said  Miss  Laura,  "the 
bottom  stone  is  loose." 


56  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

They  heard  his  footsteps  in  the  quiet  street,  and  Phil's 
light  patter  beside  him. 

"He's  a  lovely  man,  isn't  he,  Aunt  Laura?"  said 
Graciella. 

"He  is  a  gentleman,"  replied  her  aunt,  with  a  pensive 
look  at  her  young  niece." 

"Of  the  old  school,"  piped  Mrs.  Treadwell. 

"And  Philip  is  a  sweet  child,"  said  Miss  Laura. 

"A  chip  of  the  old  block,"  added  Mrs.  Treadwell.  I 
remember " 

"Yes,  mother,  you  can  tell  me  when  I've  shut  up  the 
house,"  interrupted  Miss  Laura.  "Put  out  the  lamps, 
Graciella — there's  not  much  oil — and  when  you  go  to  bed 
hang  up  your  gown  carefully,  for  it  takes  me  nearly  half 
an  hour  to  iron  it." 

"And  you  are  right  good  to  do  it!  Good  night,  dear 
Aunt  Laura!     Good  night,  grandma!" 

Mr.  French  had  left  the  hotel  at  noon  that  day  as  free 
as  air,  and  he  slept  well  that  night,  with  no  sense  of  the 
forces  that  were  to  constrain  his  life.  And  yet  the  events 
of  the  day  had  started  the  growth  of  a  dozen  tendrils, 
which  were  destined  to  grow,  and  reach  out,  and  seize 
and  hold  him  with  ties  that  do  not  break. 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  constable  who  had  arrested  old  Peter  led  his  pris- 
oner away  through  alleys  and  quiet  streets — though  for 
that  matter  all  the  streets  of  Clarendon  were  quiet  in  mid- 
afternoon — to  a  guardhouse  or  calaboose,  constructed  of 
crumbling  red  brick,  with  a  rusty,  barred  iron  door 
secured  by  a  heavy  padlock.  As  they  approached  this 
structure,  which  was  sufficiently  forbidding  in  appearance 
to  depress  the  most  lighthearted,  the  strumming  of  a  banjo 
became  audible,  accompanying  a  mellow  Negro  voice 
which  was  singing,  to  a  very  ragged  ragtime  air,  words  of 
which  the  burden  was  something  like  this : 

"  Wat's  de  use  er  my  wo'kin'  so  hahd  ? 
I  got  a'  'oman  in  de  white  man's  yahd. 
Wen  she  cook  chicken,  she  save  me  a  wing; 

Wen  dey  'low  I'm  wo'kin',  I  ain'  doin'  a  thing! " 

The  grating  of  the  key  in  the  rusty  lock  interrupted  the 
song.  The  constable  thrust  his  prisoner  into  the  dimly 
lighted  interior,  and  locked  the  door. 

"Keep  over  to  the  right,"  he  said  curtly,  "that's  the 
niggers'  side." 

"But,  Mistah  Haines,"  asked  Peter,  excitedly,  "is  I 
got  to  stay  here  all  night  ?    I  ain'  done  nuthin'." 

"No,  that's  the  trouble;  you  ain't  done  nuthin'  fer  a 
month,  but  loaf  aroun'.  You  ain't  got  no  visible  means 
of  suppo't,  so  you're  took  up  for  vagrancy." 

"  But  I  does  wo'k  we'n  I  kin  git  any  wo'k  ter  do,"  the  old 
man  expostulated.     "An'  ef  I  kin  jus'  git  wo'd  ter  de 

57 


58  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

right  w'ite  folks,  I'll  be  outer  here  in  half  a'  hour;  dey'll 
go  my  bail." 

"They  can't  go  yo'  bail  to-night,  fer  the  squire's  gone 
home.  I'll  bring  you  some  bread  and  meat,  an'  some 
whiskey  if  you  want  it,  and  you'll  be  tried  to-morrow 
mornin'." 

Old  Peter  still  protested. 

"You  niggers  are  always  kickm',"  said  the  constable, 
who  was  not  without  a  certain  grim  sense  of  humour,  and 
not  above  talking  to  a  Negro  when  there  were  no  white 
folks  around  to  talk  to,  or  to  listen.  "I  never  see  people 
so  hard  to  satisfy.  You  ain'  got  no  home,  an'  here  I've 
give'  you  a  place  to  sleep,  an'  you're  kickin'.  You  doan 
know  from  one  day  to  another  where  you'll  git  yo'  meals, 
an'  I  offer  you  bread  and  meat  and  whiskey — an'  you're 
kickin' !  You  say  you  can't  git  nothin'  to  do,  an'  yit  with 
the  prospect  of  a  reg'lar.job  befo'  you  to-morrer — you're 
kickin' I     I  never  see  the  beat  of  it  in  all  my  bo'n  days." 

When  the  constable,  chuckling  at  his  own  humour,  left 
the  guardhouse,  he  found  his  way  to  a  nearby  barroom, 
kept  by  one  Clay  Jackson,  a  place  with  an  evil  reputation 
as  the  resort  of  white  men  of  a  low  class.  Most  crimes  of 
violence  in  the  town  could  be  traced  to  its  influence,  and 
more  than  one  had  been  committed  within  its  walls. 

"Has  Mr.  Turner  been  in  here?"  demanded  Haines  of 
the  man  in  charge. 

The  bartender,  with  a  backward  movement  of  his 
thumb,  indicated  a  door  opening  into  a  room  at  the  rear. 
Here  the  constable  found  his  man — a  burly,  bearded 
giant,  with  a  red  face,  a  cunning  eye  and  an  overbearing 
manner.  He  had  a  bottle  and  a  glass  before  him,  and 
was  unsociably  drinking  alone. 

"Howdy,  Haines,"  said  Turner,  "How's  things? 
How  many  have  you  got  this  time  ? 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  59 

"I've  got  three  rounded  up,  Mr.  Turner,  an'  I'll  take 
up  another  befo'  night.  That'll  make  fo' — fifty  dollars 
fer  me,  an'  the  res'  fer  the  squire." 

"That's  good,"  rejoined  Turner.  "Have  a  glass  of 
liquor.     How  much  do  you  s'pose  the  Squire'll  fine  Bud  ?" 

"Well,"  replied  Haines,  drinking  down  the  glass  of 
whiskey  at  a  gulp,  "I  reckon  about  twenty-five  dollars." 

"You  can  make  it  fifty  just  as  easy,"  said  Turner. 
"Niggers  are  all  just  a  passell  o'  black  fools.  Bud  would 
'a'  b'en  out  now,  if  it  had  n't  be'n  for  me.  I  bought  him 
fer  six  months.  I  kept  close  watch  of  him  for  the  first 
five,  and  then  along  to'ds  the  middle  er  the  las'  month  I 
let  on  I'd  got  keerliss,  an'  he  run  away.  Course  I  put 
the  dawgs  on  'im,  an'  followed  'im  here,  where  his  woman 
is,  an'  got  you  after  'im,  and  now  he's  good  for  six  months 
more." 

"The  woman  is  a  likely  gal  an'  a  good  cook,"  said 
Haines.  "She'd  be  wuth  a  good  'eal  to  you  out  at  the 
stockade." 

"That's  a  shore  fact,"  replied  the  other,  "an'  I  need 
another  good  woman  to  help  aroun'.  If  we'd  'a'  thought 
about  it,  an'  give'  her  a  chance  to  hide  Bud  and  feed  him 
befo'  you  took  'im  up,  we  could  'a'  filed  a  charge  ag'inst 
her  for  harborin'  'im." 

"Well,  I  kin  do  it  nex'  time,  fer  he'll  run  away  ag'in — 
they  always  do.     Bud's  got  a  vile  temper." 

"Yes,  but  he's  a  good  field-hand,  and  I'll  keep  his 
temper  down.     Have  somethin'  mo'  ?" 

"I've  got  to  go  back  now  and  feed  the  pris'ners,"  said 
Haines,  rising  after  he  had  taken  another  drink;  "an'  I'll 
stir  Bud  up  so  he'll  raise  h — 11,  an'  to-morrow  morning 
I'll  make  another  charge  against  him  that'll  fetch  his  fine 
up  to  fifty  and  costs." 

"Which  will  give  'im  to  me  till  the  cotton  crop  is 


60  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

picked,  and  several  months  more  to  work  on  the  Jackson 
Swamp  ditch  if  Fetters  gits  the  contract.  You  stand  by 
us  here,  Haines,  an'  help  me  git  all  the  han's  I  can  out  o' 
this  county,  and  I'll  give  you  a  job  at  Sycamo'  when  yo'r 
time's  up  here  as  constable.  Go  on  and  feed  the  niggers, 
an'  stir  up  Bud,  and  I'll  be  on  hand  in  the  mornin'  when 
court  opens." 

When  the  lesser  of  these  precious  worthies  left  his 
superior  to  his  cups,  he  stopped  in  the  barroom  and  bought 
a  pint  of  rotgut  whiskey — a  cheap  brand  of  rectified 
spirits  coloured  and  flavoured  to  resemble  the  real  article, 
to  which  it  bore  about  the  relation  of  vitriol  to  lye.  He 
then  went  into  a  cheap  eating  house,  conducted  by  a 
Negro  for  people  of  his  own  kind,  where  he  procured  some 
slices  of  fried  bacon,  and  some  soggy  corn  bread,  and 
with  these  various  purchases,  wrapped  in  a  piece  of  brown 
paper,  he  betook  himself  to  the  guardhouse.  He  un- 
locked the  door,  closed  it  behind  him,  and  called  Peter. 
The  old  man  came  forward. 

"Here,  Peter,"  said  Haines,  "take  what  you  want  of 
this,  and  give  some  to  them  other  fellows,  and  if  there's 
anything  left  after  you've  got  what  you  want,  throw  it 
to  that  sulky  black  hound  over  yonder  in  the  corner." 

He  nodded  toward  a  young  Negro  in  the  rear  of  the  room, 
the  Bud  Johnson  who  had  been  the  subject  of  the  conversa- 
tion with  Turner.  Johnson  replied  with  a  curse.  The 
constable  advanced  menacingly,  his  hand  moving  toward 
his  pocket.  Quick  as  a  flash  the  Negro  threw  himself 
upon  him.  The  other  prisoners,  from  instinct,  or  pru- 
dence, or  hope  of  reward,  caught  him,  pulled  him  away 
and  held  him  off  until  Haines,  pale  with  rage,  rose  to  his 
feet  and  began  kicking  his  assailant  vigorously.  With 
the  aid  of  well-directed  blows  of  his  fists  he  forced  the 
Negro  down,  who,  unable  to  regain  his  feet,  finally,  whether 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  61 

from  fear  or  exhaustion,  lay  inert,  until  the  constable, 
having  worked  off  his  worst  anger,  and  not  deeming  it  to 
his  advantage  seriously  to  disable  the  prisoner,  in  whom 
he  had  a  pecuniary  interest,  desisted  from  further  punish- 
ment. 

"I  might  send  you  to  the  penitentiary  for  this,"  he  said, 
panting  for  breath,  "but  I'll  send  you  to  h — 11  instead. 
You'll  be  sold  back  to  Mr.  Fetters  for  a  year  or  two  to- 
morrow, and  in  three  months  I'll  be  down  at  Sycamore 
as  an  overseer,  and  then  I'll  learn  you  to  strike  a  white 
man,  you " 

The  remainder  of  the  objurgation  need  not  be  told,  but 
there  was  no  doubt,  from  the  expression  on  Haines's 
face,  that  he  meant  what  he  said,  and  that  he  would  take 
pleasure  in  repaying,  in  overflowing  measure,  any  arrears 
of  revenge  against  the  offending  prisoner  which  he  might 
consider  his  due.  He  had  stirred  Bud  up  very  success- 
fully— much  more  so,  indeed,  than  he  had  really  intended. 
He  had  meant  to  procure  evidence  against  Bud,  but  had 
hardly  thought  to  carry  it  away  in  the  shape  of  a  black  eye 
and  a  swollen  nose. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

When  the  colonel  set  out  next  morning  for  a  walk  down 
the  main  street,  he  had  just  breakfasted  On  boiled  brook 
trout,  fresh  laid  eggs,  hot  muffins  and  coffee,  and  was 
feeling  at  peace  with  all  mankind.  He  was  alone,  having 
left  Phil  in  charge  of  the  hotel  housekeeper.  He  had  gone 
only  a  short  distance  when  he  reached  a  door  around 
which  several  men  were  lounging,  and  from  which  came 
the  sound  of  voices  and  loud  laughter.  Stopping,  he 
looked  with  some  curiosity  into  the  door,  over  which  there 
was  a  faded  sign  to  indicate  that  it  was  the  office  of  a 
Justice  of  the  Peace — a  pleasing  collocation  of  words,  to 
those  who  could  divorce  it  from  any  technical  significance 
— Justice,  Peace — the  seed  and  the  flower  of  civilisation. 

An  unwashed,  dingy-faced  young  negro,  clothed  in  rags 
unspeakably  vile,  which  scarcely  concealed  his  nakedness, 
was  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  white  men, 
toward  whom  he  threw  now  and  then  a  shallow  and 
shifty  glance.  The  air  was  heavy  with  the  odour  of  stale 
tobacco,  and  the  floor  dotted  with  discarded  portions  of 
the  weed.  A  white  man  stood  beside  a  desk  and  was 
addressing  the  audience: 

"Now,  gentlemen,  here's  Lot  Number  Three,  a  likely 
young  nigger  who  answers  to  the  name  of  Sam  Brown. 
Not  much  to  look  at,  but  will  make  a  good  field  hand,  if 
looked  after  right  and  kept  away  from  liquor;  used  to 
workin',  when  in  the  chain  gang,  where  he's  been,  off  and 
on,  since  he  was  ten  years  old.  Amount  of  fine  an'  costs 
thirty-seven  dollars  an'  a  half.     A  musical  nigger,  too, 

62 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  63 

who  plays  the  banjo,  an'  sings  jus'  like  a — like  a  black- 
bird.    What  am  I  bid  for  this  prime  lot?" 

The  negro  threw  a  dull  glance  around  the  crowd  with 
an  air  of  detachment  which  seemed  to  say  that  he  was  not 
at  all  interested  in  the  proceedings.  The  colonel  viewed 
the  scene  with  something  more  than  curious  interest. 
The  fellow  looked  like  an  habitual  criminal,  or  at  least 
like  a  confirmed  loafer.  This  must  be  one  of  the  idle  and 
worthless  blacks  with  so  many  of  whom  the  South  was 
afflicted.  This  was  doubtless  the  method  provided  by 
law  for  dealing  with  them. 

"One  year,"  answered  a  voice. 

"Nine  months,"  said  a  secon ' 

"Six  months,"  came  a  third  bid,  from  a  tall  man  with  a 
buggy  whip  under  his  arm. 

"Are  you  all  through,  gentlemen  ?  Six  months'  labour 
for  thirty-seven  fifty  is  mighty  cheap,  and  you  know  the 
law  allows  you  to  keep  the  labourer  up  to  the  mark.  Are 
you  all  done?  Sold  to  Mr.  Turner,  for  Mr.  Fetters,  for 
six  months." 

The  prisoner's  dull  face  showed  some  signs  of  apprehen- 
sion when  the  name  of  his  purchaser  was  pronounced,  and 
he  shambled  away  uneasily  under  the  constable's  vigilant 
eye. 

"The  case  of  the  State  against  Bud  Johnson  is  next  in 
order.     Bring  in  the  prisoner." 

The  constable  brought  in  the  prisoner,  handcuffed,  and 
placed  him  in  front  of  the  Justice's  desk,  where  he  remained 
standing.  He  was  a  short,  powerfully  built  negro,  seem- 
ingly of  pure  blood,  with  a  well-rounded  head,  not  unduly 
low  irt  the  brow  and  quite  broad  between  the  ears.  Under 
different  circumstances  his  countenance  might  have  been 
pleasing;  at  present  it  was  set  in  an  expression  of  angry 
defiance.    He  had  walked  with  a  slight  limp,  there  were 


64  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

several  contusions  upon  his  face;  and  upon  entering  the 
room  he  had  thrown  a  defiant  glance  around  him,  which 
had  not  quailed  even  before  the  stern  eye  of  the  tall  man, 
Turner,  who,  as  the  agent  of  the  absent  Fetters,  had  bid  on 
Sam  Brown.  His  face  then  hardened  into  the  blank 
expression  of  one  who  stands  in  a  hostile  presence. 

"Bud  Johnson,"  said  the  justice,  "you  are  charged  with 
escaping  from  the  service  into  which  you  were  sold  to  pay 
the  fine  and  costs  on  a  charge  of  vagrancy.  What  do  you 
plead — guilty  or  not  guilty  ?  " 

The  prisoner  maintained  a  sullen  silence. 

"I'll  enter  a  plea  of  not  guilty.  The  record  of  this  court 
shows  that  you  were  convicted  of  vagrancy  on  December 
26th,  and  sold  to  Mr.  Fetters  for  four  months  to  pay  your 
fine  and  costs.  The  four  months  won't  be  up  for  a  week. 
Mr.  Turner  may  be  sworn." 

Turner  swore  to  Bud's  escape  and  his  pursuit.  Haines 
testified  to  his  capture. 

"Have  you  anything  to  say?"  asked  the  justice. 

"What's  de  use  er  my  sayin'  anything,"  muttered  the 
Negro.  "It  won't  make  no  diff'ence.  I  didn'  do 
nothin',  in  de  fus'  place,-ter  be  fine'  fer,  an'  run  away 
'cause  dey  did  n'  have  no  right  ter  keep  me  dere." 

"Guilty.  Twenty-five  dollars  an'  costs.  You  are  also 
charged  with  resisting  the  officer  who  made  the  arrest. 
Guilty  or  not  guilty  ?  Since  you  don't  speak,  I'll  enter  a 
plea  of  not  guilty.     Mr.  Haines  may  be  sworn." 

Haines  swore  that  the  prisoner  had  resisted  arrest,  and 
had  only  been  captured  by  the  display  of  a  loaded  revolver. 
The  prisoner  was  convicted  and  fined  twenty-five  dollars 
and  costs  for  this  second  offense. 

The  third  charge,  for  disorderly  conduct  in  prison,  was 
quickly  disposed  of,  and  a  fine  of  twenty-five  dollars  and 
costs  levied. 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  65 

"You  may  consider  yo'self  lucky,"  said  the  magistrate, 
"that  Mr.  Haines  didn't  prefer  a  mo'  serious  charge  against 
you.  Many  a  nigger  has  gone  to  the  gallows  for  less. 
And  now,  gentlemen,  I  want  to  clean  this  case  up  right 
here.  How  much  time  is  offered  for  the  fine  and  costs  of 
the  prisoner,  Bud  Johnson,  amounting  to  seventy-five 
dollars  fine  and  thirty-three  dollars  and  fifty-fo'  cents 
costs  ?  You've  heard  the  evidence  an'  you  see  the  nigger. 
Ef  there  ain't  much  competition  for  his  services  and  the 
time  is  a  long  one,  he'll  have  his  own  stubbornness  an' 
deviltry  to  thank  for  it.  He's  strong  and  healthy  and  able 
to  do  good  work  for  any  one  that  can  manage  him." 

There  was  no  immediate  response.  Turner  walked 
forward  and  viewed  the  prisoner  from  head  to  foot  with  a 
coldly  sneering  look. 

"Well,  Bud,"  he  said,  "I  reckon  we'll  hafter  try  it  ag'in. 
I  have  never  yet  allowed  a  nigger  to  git  the  better  o'  me,  an', 
moreover,  I  never  will.  I'll  bid  eighteen  months,  Squire; 
an'  that's  all  he's  worth,  with  his  keep." 

There  was  no  competition,  and  the  prisoner  was  knocked 
down  to  Turner,  for  Fetters,  for  eighteen  months. 

"  Lock  'im  up  till  I'm  ready  to  go,  Bill,"  said  Turner  to 
the  constable,  "an'  just  leave  the  irons  on  him.  I'll  fetch 
'em  back  next  time  I  come  to  town." 

The  unconscious  brutality  of  the  proceeding  grated 
harshly  upon  the  colonel's  nerves.  Delinquents  of  some 
kind  these  men  must  be,  who  were  thus  dealt  with;  but 
he  had  lived  away  from  the  South  so  long  that  so  sudden 
an  introduction  to  some  of  its  customs  came  with  something 
of  a  shock.  He  had  remembered  the  pleasant  things,  and 
these  but  vaguely,  since  his  thoughts  and  his  interests 
had  been  elsewhere ;  and  in  the  sifting  process  of  a  healthy 
memory  he  had  forgotten  the  disagreeable  things  alto- 
gether.    He  had  found  the  pleasant  things  still  in  existence, 


66  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

faded  but  still  fragrant.  Fresh  from  a  land  of  labour 
unions,  and  of  struggle  for  wealth  and  power,  of  strivings 
first  for  equality  with  those  above,  and,  this  attained,  for 
a  point  of  vantage  to  look  down  upon  former  equals,  he 
had  found  in  old  Peter,  only  the  day  before,  a  touching 
loyalty  to  a  family  from  which  he  could  no  longer  expect 
anything  in  return.  Fresh  from  a  land  of  women's  clubs 
and  women's  claims,  he  had  reveled  last  night  in  the 
charming  domestic  life  of  the  old  South,  so  perfectly 
preserved  in  a  quiet  household.  Things  Southern,  as  he 
had  already  reflected,  lived  long  and  died  hard,  and  these 
things  which  he  saw  now  in  the  clear  light  of  day,  were  also 
of  the  South,  and  singularly  suggestive  of  other  things 
Southern  which  he  had  supposed  outlawed  and  discarded 
long  ago. 

"Now,  Mr.  Haines,  bring  in  the  next  lot,"  said  the 
Squire. 

The  constable  led  out  an  old  coloured  man,  clad  in  a 
quaint  assortment  of  tattered  garments,  whom  the  colonel 
did  not  for  a  moment  recognise,  not  having,  from  where 
he  stood,  a  full  view  of  the  prisoner's  face. 

"Gentlemen,  I  now  call  yo'r  attention  to  Lot  Number 
Fo',  left  over  from  befo'  the  wah;  not  much  for  looks,  but 
respectful  and  obedient,  and  accustomed,  for  some  time 
past,  to  eat  very  little.  Can  be  made  useful  in  many  ways 
— can  feed  the  chickens,  take  care  of  the  children,  or  would 
make  a  good  skeercrow.  What  I  am  bid,  gentlemen,  for 
ol'  Peter  French  ?  The  amount  due  the  co't  is  twenty- 
fo'  dollahs  and  a  half." 

There  was  some  laughter  at  the  Squire's  facetiousness. 
Turner,  who  had  bid  on  the  young  and  strong  men,  turned 
away  unconcernedly. 

"You'd  'a'  made  a  good  auctioneer,  Squire,"  said  the 
one-armed  man. 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  67 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Pearsall.  How  much  am  I  offered 
for  this  bargain?" 

"He'd  be  dear  at  any  price,"  said  one. 

"It's  a  great  risk,"  observed  a  second. 

"Ten  yeahs,"  said  a  third. 

"You're  takin'  big  chances,  Mr.  Bennet,"  said  another. 
"He'll  die  in  five,  and  you'll  have  to  bury  him." 

"I  withdraw  the  bid,"  said  Mr.  Bennet  promptly. 

"Two  yeahs,"  said  another. 

The  colonel  was  boiling  over  with  indignation.  His 
interest  in  the  fate  of  the  other  prisoners  had  been  merely 
abstract;  in  old  Peter's  case  it  assumed  a  personal 
aspect.     He  forced  himself  into  the  room  and  to  the  front. 

"May  I  ask  the  meaning  of  this  proceeding?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"Well,  suh,"  replied  the  Justice,  "I  don't  know  who  you 
are,  or  what  right  you  have  to  interfere,  but  this  is  the  sale 
of  a  vagrant  nigger,  with  no  visible  means  of  suppo't. 
Perhaps,  since  you're  interested,  you'd  like  to  bid  on  'im. 
Are  you  from  the  No'ih,  likely  ?" 

"Yes." 

"I  thought,  suh,  that  you  looked  like  a  No'the'n  man. 
That  bein'  so,  doubtless  you'd  like  somethin'  on  the  Uncle 
Tom  order.  Old  Peter's  fine  is  twenty  dollars,  and  the 
costs  fo'  dollars  and  a  half.  The  prisoner's  time  is  sold 
to  whoever  pays  his  fine  and  allows  him  the  shortest  time 
to  work  it  out.     When  his  time's  up,  he  goes  free." 

"And  what  has  old  Peter  done  to  deserve  a  fine  of  twenty 
dollars — more  money  than  he  perhaps  has  ever  had  at 
any  one  time?" 

"'Deed  it  is,  Mars  Henry,  'deed  it  is!"  exclaimed  Peter, 
fervently. 

"Peter  has  not  been  able,"  replied  the  magistrate,  "to 
show  this  co't  that  he  has  reg'lar  employment,  or  means  of 


68  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

suppo't,  and  he  was  therefore  tried  and  convicted  yesterday 
evenin'  of  vagrancy,  under  our  State  law.  The  fine  is 
intended  to  discourage  laziness  and  to  promote  industry. 
Do  you  want  to  bid,  suh  ?  I'm  offered  two  yeahs,  gentle- 
men, for  old  Peter  French  ?  Does  anybody  wish  to  make 
it  less?" 

"I'll  pay  the  fine,"  said  the  colonel,  "let  him  go." 

"I  beg  yo'  pahdon,  suh,  but  that  wouldn't  fulfil  the 
requi'ments  of  the  law.  He'd  be  subject  to  arrest  again 
immediately.  Somebody  must  take  the  responsibility 
for  his  keep." 

"I'll  look  after  him,"  said  the  colonel  shortly. 

"In  order  to  keep  the  docket  straight,"  said  the  justice, 
"I  should  want  to  note  yo'  bid.     How  long  shall  I  say?" 

"Say  what  you  like,"  said  the  colonel,  drawing  out  his 
pocketbook. 

"You  don't  care  to  bid,  Mr.  Turner?"  asked  the  justice. 

"Not  by  a  damn  sight,"  replied  Turner,  with  native 
elegance.     I  buy  niggers  to  work,  not  to  bury." 

"I  withdraw  my  bid  in  favour  of  the  gentleman,"  said 
the  two-year  bidder. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  colonel. 

"Remember,  suh,"  said  the  justice  to  the  colonel,  "  that 
you  are  responsible  for  his  keep  as  well  as  entitled  to  his 
labour,  for  the  period  of  your  bid.  How  long  shall  I  make 
it?" 

"As  long  as  you  please,"  said  the  colonel  impatiently. 

"Sold,"  said  the  justice,  bringing  down  his  gavel,  "for 
life,  to — what  name,  suh?" 

"French — Henry  French." 

There  was  some  manifestation  of  interest  in  the  crowd; 
and  the  colonel  was  stared  at  with  undisguised  curiosity 
as  he  paid  the  fine  and  costs,  which  included  two  dollars 
for  two  meals  in  the  guardhouse,  and  walked  away  with 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  69 

his  purchase — a  purchase  which  his  father  had  made,  upon 
terms  not  very  different,  fifty  years  before. 

"One  of  the  old  Frenches,"  I  reckon,  said  a  bystander, 
"come  back  on  a  visit." 

"Yes,"  said  another,  "old  'ristocrats  roun'  here.  Well, 
they  ought  to  take  keer  of  their  old  niggers.  They  got  all 
the  good  out  of  'em  when  they  were  young.  But  they're 
not  runnin'  things  now." 

An  hour  later  the  colonel,  driving  leisurely  about  the 
outskirts  of  the  town  and  seeking  to  connect  his  memories 
more  closely  with  the  scenes  around  him,  met  a  buggy 
in  which  sat  the  man  Turner.  After  the  buggy,  tied 
behind  one  another  to  a  rope,  like  a  coffle  of  slaves, 
marched  the  three  Negroes  whose  time  he  had  bought  at 
the  constable's  sale.  Among  them,  of  course,  was  the 
young  man  who  had  been  called  Bud  Johnson.  The 
colonel  observed  that  this  Negro's  face,  when  turned  toward 
the  white  man  in  front  of  him,  expressed  a  fierce  hatred, 
as  of  some  wild  thing  of  the  woods,  which  finding  itself 
trapped  and  betrayed,  would  go  to  any  length  to  injure 
its  captor. 

Turner  passed  the  colonel  with  no  sign  of  recognition 
or  greeting. 

Bud  Johnson  evidently  recognised  the  friendly  gentle- 
man who  had  interfered  in  Peter's  case.  He  threw  toward 
the  colonel  a  look  which  resembled  an  appeal;  but  it  was 
involuntary,  and  lasted  but  a  moment,  and,  when  the 
prisoner  became  conscious  of  it,  and  realised  its  useless- 
ness,  it  faded  into  the  former  expression. 

What  the  man's  story  was,  the  colonel  did  not  know, 
nor  what  were  his  deserts.  But  the  events  of  the  day  had 
furnished  food  for  reflection.  Evidently  Clarendon  needed 
new  light  and  leading.  Men,  even  black  men,  with  some- 
thing to  live  for,  and  with  work  at  living  wages,  would 


70  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

scarcely  prefer  an  enforced  servitude  in  ropes  and  chains. 
And  the  punishment  had  scarcely  seemed  to  fit  the  crime. 
He  had  observed  no  great  zeal  for  work  among  the  white 
people  since  he  came  to  town;  such  work  as  he  had  seen 
done  was  mostly  performed  by  Negroes.  If  idleness  were 
a  crime,  the  Negroes  surely  had  no  monopoly  if  it. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Furnished  with  money  for  his  keep,  Peter  was  ordered 
if  again  molested  to  say  that  he  was  in  the  colonel's 
service.  The  latter,  since  his  own  plans  were  for  the 
present  uncertain,  had  no  very  clear  idea  of  what  disposi- 
tion he  would  ultimately  make  of  the  old  man,  but  he 
meant  to  provide  in  some  way  for  his  declining  years. 
He  also  bought  Peter  a  neat  suit  of  clothes  at  a  clothing 
store,  and  directed  him  to  present  himself  at  the  hotel  on 
the  following  morning.  The  interval  would  give  the 
colonel  time  to  find  something  for  Peter  to  do,  so  that  he 
would  be  able  to  pay  him  a  wage.  To  his  contract  with 
the  county  he  attached  little  importance;  he  had  already 
intended,  since  their  meeting  in  the  cemetery,  to  provide 
for  Peter  in  some  way,  and  the  legal  responsibility  was  no 
additional  burden.  To  Peter  himself,  to  whose  homeless 
old  age  food  was  more  than  philosophy,  the  arrangement 
seemed  entirely  satisfactory. 

Colonel  French's  presence  in  Clarendon  had  speedily 
become  known  to  the  public.  Upon  his  return  to 
the  hotel,  after  leaving  Peter  to  his  own  devices  for 
the  day,  he  found  several  cards  in  his  letter  box,  left 
by  gentlemen  who  had  called,  during  his  absence,  to 
see  him. 

The  daily  mail  had  also  come  in,  and  the  colonel  sat 
down  in  the  office  to  read  it.  There  was  a  club  notice, 
and  several  letters  that  had  been  readdressed  and  for- 
warded, and  a  long  one  from  Kirby  in  reference  to  some 
detail  of  the  recent  transfer.     Before  he  had  finished 

71 


72  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

reading  these,  a  gentleman  came  up  and  introduced  him- 
self. He  proved  to  be  one  John  McLean,  an  old  school- 
mate of  the  colonel,  and  later  a  comrade-in-arms,  though 
the  colonel  would  never  have  recognised  a  rather  natty 
major  in  his  own  regiment  in  this  shabby  middle-aged 
man,  whose  shoes  were  run  down  at  the  heel,  whose  linen 
was  doubtful,  and  spotted  with  tobacco  juice.  The 
major  talked  about  the  weather,  which  was  cool  for  the 
season;  about  the  Civil  War,  about  politics,  and  about  the 
Negroes,  who  were  very  trifling,  the  major  said.  While 
they  were  talking  upon  this  latter  theme,  there  was  some 
commotion  in  the  street,  in  front  of  the  hotel,  and  looking 
up  they  saw  that  a  horse,  attached  to  a  loaded  wagon,  had 
fallen  in  the  roadway,  and  having  become  entangled  in 
the  harness,  was  kicking  furiously.  Five  or  six  Negroes 
were  trying  to  quiet  the  animal,  and  release  him  from 
the  shafts,  while  a  dozen  white  men  looked  on  and  made 
suggestions. 

"An  illustration,"  said  the  major,  pointing  through  the 
window  toward  the  scene  without,  "of  what  we've  got  to 
contend  with.  Six  niggers  can't  get  one  horse  up  without 
twice  as  many  white  men  to  tell  them  how.  That's 
why  the  South  is  behind  the  No'th.  The  niggers,  in  one 
way  or  another,  take  up  most  of  our  time  and  energy. 
You  folks  up  there  have  half  your  work  done  before  we 
get  our'n  started." 

The  horse,  pulled  this  way  and  that,  in  obedience  to  the 
conflicting  advice  of  the  bystanders,  only  became  more 
and  more  intricately  entangled.  He  had  caught  one  foot 
in  a  manner  that  threatened,  with  each  frantic  jerk,  to 
result  in  a  broken  leg,  when  the  colonel,  leaving  his  visitor 
without  ceremony,  ran  out  into  the  street,  leaned  down, 
and  with  a  few  well-directed  movements,  released  the 
threatened  limb. 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  73 

"Now,  boys,"  he  said,  laying  hold  of  the  prostrate 
animal,  "give  a  hand  here." 

The  Negroes,  and,  after  some  slight  hesitation,  one  or 
two  white  men,  came  to  the  colonel's  aid,  and  in  a  moment, 
the  horse,  trembling  and  blowing,  was  raised  to  its  feet. 
The  driver  thanked  the  colonel  and  the  others  who  had 
befriended  him,  and  proceeded  with  his  load. 

When  the  flurry  of  excitement  was  over,  the  colonel  went 
back  to  the  hotel  and  resumed  the  conversation  with  his 
friend.  If  the  new  franchise  amendment  went  through, 
said  the  major,  the  Negro  would  be  eliminated  from 
politics,  and  the  people  of  the  South,  relieved  of  the  fear  of 
"nigger  domination,"  could  give  their  attention  to  better 
things,  and  their  section  would  move  forward  along  the 
path  of  progress  by  leaps  and  bounds.  Of  himself  the 
major  said  little  except  that  he  had  been  an  alternate 
delegate  to  the  last  Democratic  National  Nominating 
Convention,  and  that  he  expected  to  run  for  coroner  at 
the  next  county  election. 

"If  I  can  secure  the  suppo't  of  Mr.  Fetters  in  the  prima- 
ries," he  said,  "my  nomination  is  assured,  and  a  nomina- 
tion is  of  co'se  equivalent  to  an  election.  But  I  see  there 
are  some  other  gentlemen  that  would  like  to  talk  to  you, 
and  I  won't  take  any  mo'  of  yo'  time  at  present. 

"Mr.  Blake,"  he  said,  addressing  a  gentleman  with 
short  sidewhiskers  who  was  approaching  them,  "have  you 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Colonel  French?" 

"No,  suh,"  said  the  stranger,  "I  shall  be  glad  to  have 
the  honour  of  an  introduction  at  your  hands." 

"Colonel  French,  Mr.  Blake— Mr.  Blake,  Colonel 
French.  You  gentlemen  will  probably  like  to  talk  to  one 
another,  because  you  both  belong  to  the  same  party,  I 
reckon.  Mr.  Blake  is  a  new  man  roun'  heah — come  down 
from  the  mountains  not  mo'  than  ten  yeahs  ago,  an' 


74  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

fetched  his  politics  with  him;  but  since  he  was  born  that 
way  we  don't  entertain  any  malice  against  him.  Mo 'over, 
he's  not  a  'Black  and  Tan  Republican,'  but  a  'Lily 
White.'" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Blake,  taking  the  colonel's  hand, 
"  I  believe  in  white  supremacy,  and  the  elimination  of  the 
nigger  vote.  If  the  National  Republican  Party  would 
only  ignore  the  coloured  politicians,  and  give  all  the  offices 
to  white  men,  we'll  soon  build  up  a  strong  white  Repub- 
lican party.  If  I  had  the  post-office  here  at  Clarendon, 
with  the  encouragement  it  ■  would  give,  and  the  aid  of  my 
clerks  and  subo'dinates,  I  could  double  the  white  Repub- 
lican vote  in  this  county  in  six  months." 

The  major  had  left  them  together,  and  the  Lily  White, 
ere  he  in  turn  made  way  for  another  caller,  suggested 
delicately,  that  he  would  appreciate  any  good  word  that 
the  colonel  might  be  able  to  say  for  him  in  influential 
quarters — either  personally  or  through  friends  who  might 
have  the  ear  of  the  executive  or  those  close  to  him — in 
reference  to  the  postmastership.  Realising  that  the 
present  administration  was  a  business  one,  in  which 
sentiment  played  small  part,  he  had  secured  the  endorse- 
ment of  the  leading  business  men  of  the  county,  even  that 
of  Mr.  Fetters  himself.  Mr.  Fetters  was  of  course  a 
Democrat,  but  preferred,  since  the  office  must  go  to  a 
Republican,  that  it  should  go  to  a  Lily  White. 

"I  hope  to  see  mo'  of  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "and  I  take 
pleasure  in  introducing  the  Honourable  Henry  Clay 
Appleton,  editor  of  our  local  newspaper,  the  Anglo-Saxon. 
He  and  I  may  not  agree  on  free  silver  and  the  tariff,  but 
we  are  entirely  in  harmony  on  the  subject  indicated  by  the 
title  of  his  newspaper.  Mr.  Appleton  not  only  furnishes 
all  the  news  that's  fit  to  read,  but  he  represents  this 
county  in  the  Legislature,  along  with  Mr.  Fetters,  and 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  75 

he  will  no  doubt  be  the  next  candidate  for  Congress  from 
this  district.  He  can  tell  you  all  that's  worth  knowin' 
about  Clarendon." 

The  colonel  shook  hands  with  the  editor,  who  had  come 
with  a  two-fold  intent — to  make  the  visitor's  acquaintance 
and  to  interview  him  upon  his  impressions  of  the  South. 
Incidentally  he  gave  the  colonel  a  great  deal  of  infor- 
mation about  local  conditions.  These  were  not,  he 
admitted,  ideal.  The  town  was  backward.  It  needed 
capital  to  develop  its  resources,  and  it  needed  to  be 
rid  of  the  fear  of  Negro  domination.  The  suffrage  in 
the  hands  of  the  Negroes  had  proved  a  ghastly  and 
expensive  joke  for  all  concerned,  and  the  public  welfare 
absolutely  demanded  that  it  be  taken  away.  Even  the 
white  Republicans  were  coming  around  to  the  same  point 
of  view.  The  new  franchise  amendment  to  the  State 
constitution  was  receiving  their  unqualified  support. 

"That  was  a  fine,  chivalrous  deed  of  yours  this  morning, 
sir,"  he  said,  "at  Squire  Reddick's  office.  It  was  just 
what  might  have  been  expected  from  a  Southern  gentle- 
man; for  we  claim  you,  colonel,  in  spite  of  your  long 
absence." 

"Yes,"  returned  the  colonel,  "I  don't  know  what  I 
rescued  old  Peter  from.  It  looked  pretty  dark  for  him 
there  for  a  little  while.  I  shouldn't  have  envied  his  fate 
had  he  been  bought  in  by  the  tall  fellow  who  represented 
your  colleague  in  the  Legislature.     The  law  seems  harsh." 

"Well,"  admitted  the  editor,  "I  suppose  it  might  seem 
harsh,  in  comparison  with  your  milder  penal  systems  up 
North.  But  you  must  consider  the  circumstances,  and 
make  allowances  for  us.  We  have  so  many  idle,  ignorant 
Negroes  that  something  must  be  done  to  make  them 
work,  or  else  they'll  steal,  and  to  keep  them  in  their 
place,  or  they  would  run  over  us.     The  law  has  been  in 


76  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

operation  only  a  year  or  two,  and  is  already  having  its 
effect.  I'll  be  glad  to  introduce  a  bill  for  its  repeal,  as 
soon  as  it  is  no  longer  needed. 

"You  must  bear  in  mind,  too,  colonel,  that  niggers 
don't  look  at  imprisonment  and  enforced  labour  in  the 
same  way  white  people  do — they  are  not  conscious  of  any 
disgrace  attending  stripes  or  the  ball  and  chain.  The 
State  is  poor;  our  white  children  are  suffering  for  lack  of 
education,  and  yet  we  have  to  spend  a  large  amount  of 
money  on  the  Negro  schools.  These  convict  labour  con- 
tracts are  a  source  of  considerable  revenue  to  the  State; 
they  make  up,  in  fact,  for  most  of  the  outlay  for  Negro 
education — which  I  approve  of,  though  I'm  frank  to  say 
that  so  far  I  don't  see  much  good  that's  come  from  it.  This 
convict  labour  is  humanely  treated;  Mr.  Fetters  has  the 
contract  for  several  counties,  and  anybody  who  knows  Mr. 
Fetters  knows  that  there's  no  kinder-hearted  man  in  the 
South." 

The  colonel  disclaimed  any  intention  of  criticising.  He 
had  come  back  to  his  old  home  for  a  brief  visit,  to  rest 
and  to  observe.  He  was  willing  to  learn  and  anxious  to 
please.  The  editor  took  copious  notes  of  the  interview, 
and  upon  his  departure  shook  hands  with  the  colonel 
cordially. 

The  colonel  had  tactfully  let  his  visitors  talk,  while  he 
listened,  or  dropped  a  word  here  and  there  to  draw  them 
out.  One  fact  was  driven  home  to  him  by  every  one  to 
whom  he  had  spoken.  Fetters  dominated  the  county 
and  the  town,  and  apparently  the  State.  His  name  was 
on  every  lip.  His  influence  was  indispensable  to  every 
political  aspirant.  His  acquaintance  was  something  to 
boast  of,  and  his  good  will  held  a  promise  of  success. 
And  the  colonel  had  once  kicked  the  Honourable  Mr. 
Fetters,  then  plain  Bill,  in  presence  of  an  admiring  audi- 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  77 

ence,  all  the  way  down  Main  Street  from  the  academy 
to  the  bank!  Bill  had  been,  to  all  intents  and  purposes, 
a  poor  white  boy;  who  could  not  have  named  with  cer- 
tainty his  own  grandfather.  The  Honourable  William  was 
undoubtedly  a  man  of  great  ability.  Had  the  colonel 
remained  in  his  native  State,  would  he  have  been  able, 
he  wondered,  to  impress  himself  so  deeply  upon  the  com- 
munity? Would  blood  have  been  of  any  advantage, 
under  the  changed  conditions,  or  would  it  have  been  a 
drawback  to  one  who  sought  political  advancement? 

When  the  colonel  was  left  alone,  he  went  to  look  for 
Phil,  who  was  playing  with  the  children  of  the  landlord, 
in  the  hotel  parlour.  Commending  him  to  the  care  of  the 
Negro  maid  in  charge  of  them,  he  left  the  hotel  and  called 
on  several  gentlemen  whose  cards  he  had  found  in  his 
box  at  the  clerk's  desk.  Their  stores  and  offices  were 
within  a  short  radius  of  the  hotel.  They  were  all  glad 
to  see  him,  and  if  there  was  any  initial  stiffness  or  shyness 
in  the  attitude  of  any  one,  it  soon  became  the  warmest 
cordiality  under  the  influence  of  the  colonel's  simple  and 
unostentatious  bearing.  If  he  compared  the  cut  of  their 
clothes  or  their  beards  to  his  own,  to  their  disadvantage, 
or  if  he  found  their  views  narrow  and  provincial,  he  gave 
no  sign  —  their  hearts  were  warm  and  their  welcome 
hearty. 

The  colonel  was  not  able  to  gather,  from  the  conver- 
sation of  his  friends,  that  Clarendon,  or  any  one  in  the 
town — always  excepting  Fetters,  who  did  not  live  in  the 
town,  but  merely  overshadowed  it — was  especially  pros- 
perous. There  were  no  mills  or  mines  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, except  a  few  grist  mills,  and  a  sawmill.  The  bulk 
of  the  business  consisted  in  supplying  the  needs  of  an 
agricultural  population,  and  trading  in  their  products. 
The  cotton  was  baled  and  shipped  to  the  North,  and  re- 


78  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

imported  for  domestic  use,  in  the  shape  of  sheeting  and 
other  stuffs.  The  corn  was  shipped  to  the  North,  and 
came  back  in  the  shape  of  corn  meal  and  salt  pork,  the 
staple  articles  of  diet.  Beefsteak  and  butter  were  brought 
from  the  North,  at  twenty-five  and  fifty  cents  a  pound 
respectively.  There  were  cotton  merchants,  and  corn  and 
feed  merchants;  there  were  dry-goods  and  grocery  stores, 
drug  stores  and  saloons — and  more  saloons — and  the 
usual  proportion  of  professional  men.  Since  Clarendon 
was  the  county  seat,  there  were  of  course  a  court  house 
and  a  jail.  There  were  churches  enough,  if  all  filled  at 
once,  to  hold  the  entire  population  of  the  town,  and 
preachers  in  proportion.  The  merchants,  of  whom  a 
number  were  Jewish,  periodically  went  into  bankruptcy; 
the  majority  of  their  customers  did  likewise,  and  thus  a 
fellow-feeling  was  promoted,  and  the  loss  thrown  back 
as  far  as  possible.  The  lands  of  the  large  farmers  were 
mostly  mortgaged,  either  to  Fetters,  or  to  the  bank  of 
which  he  was  the  chief  stockholder,  for  all  that  could  be 
borrowed  on  them;  while  the  small  farmers,  many  of 
whom  were  coloured,  were  practically  tied  to  the  soil  by 
ropes  of  debt  and  chains  of  contract. 

Every  one  the  colonel  met  during  the  afternoon  had 
heard  of  Squire  Reddick's  good  joke  of  the  morning. 
That  he  should  have  sold  Peter  to  the  colonel  for  life  was 
regarded  as  extremely  clever.  Some  of  them  knew  old 
Peter,  and  none  of  them  had  ever  known  any  harm  of 
him,  and  they  were  unanimous  in  their  recognition  and 
applause  of  the  colonel's  goodheartedness.  Moreover, 
it  was  an  index  of  the  colonel's  views.  He  was  one  of 
them,  by  descent  and  early  associations,  but  he  had  been 
away  a  long  time,  and  they  hadn't  really  known  how 
much  of  a  Yankee  he  might  have  become.  By  his 
whimsical  and   kindly  purchase  of  old   Peter's  time — or 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  79 

of  old  Peter,  as  they  smilingly  put  it,  he  had  shown  his 
appreciation  of  the  helplessness  of  the  Negroes,  and  of 
their  proper   relations  to  the  whites. 

"  What'll  you  do  with  him,  Colonel  ?"  asked  one  gentle- 
man. "An  ole  nigger  like  Peter  couldn't  live  in  the  col' 
No'th.  You'll  have  to  buy  a  place  down  here  to  keep 
'im.     They  wouldn'  let  you  own  a  nigger  at  the  No'th." 

The  remark,  with  the  genial  laugh  accompanying  it,  was 
sounding  in  the  colonel's  ears,  as,  on  the  way  back  to  the 
hotel,  he  stepped  into  the  barber  shop.  The  barber,  who 
had  also  heard  the  story,  was  bursting  with  a  desire  to  un- 
bosom himself  upon  the  subject.  Knowing  from  ex- 
perience that  white  gentlemen,  in  their  intercourse  with 
coloured  people,  were  apt  to  be,  in  the  local  phrase, 
"sometimey,"  or  uncertain  in  their  moods,  he  first  tested, 
with  a  few  remarks  about  the  weather,  the  colonel's 
amiability,  and  finding  him  approachable,  proved  quite 
talkative  and  confidential. 

"You're  Colonel  French,  ain't  you,  suh?"  he  asked 
as  he  began  applying  the  lather. 

"Yes." 

"Yes,  suh;  I  had  heard  you  wuz  in  town,  an'  I  wuz 
hopin'  you  would  come  in  to  get  shaved.  An'  w'en 
I  heard  'bout  yo'  noble  conduc'  this  mawnin'  at  Squire 
Reddick's  I  wanted  you  to  come  in  all  de  mo',  suh.  Ole 
Uncle  Peter  has  had  a  lot  er  bad  luck  in  his  day,  but  he 
has  fell  on  his  feet  dis  time,  suh,  sho's  you  bawn.  I'm 
right  glad  to  see  you,  suh.  I  feels  closer  to  you,  suh, 
than  I  does  to  mos'  white  folks,  because  you  know,  colonel, 
I'm  livin'  in  the  same  house  you  wuz  bawn  in." 

"Oh,  you  are  the  Nichols,  are  you,  who  bought  our  old 
place?" 

"Yes,  suh,  William  Nichols,  at  yo'  service,  suh.  I've 
own'  de  ole  house  fer  twenty  yeahs  or  mo'  now,  suh,  an' 


80  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

we've  b'en  mighty  comfo'table  in  it,  suh.  They  is  a 
spaciousness,  an'  a  air  of  elegant  sufficiency  about  the 
environs  and  the  equipments  of  the  ed'fice,  suh,  that  does 
credit  to  the  tas'e  of  the  old  aristocracy  an'  of  you-all's 
family,  an'  teches  me  in  a  sof  spot.  For  I  loves  the  aris- 
tocracy; an'  I've  often  tol'  my  ol'  lady,  'Liza,'  says  I,  *ef 
I'd  be'n  bawn  white  I  sho'  would  'a'  be'n  a  'ristocrat. 
I  feels  it  in  my  bones.'" 

While  the  barber  babbled  on  with  his  shrewd  flattery, 
which  was  sincere  enough  to  carry  a  reasonable  amount 
of  conviction,  the  colonel  listened  with  curiously  mingled 
feelings.  He  recalled  each  plank,  each  pane  of  glass,  every 
inch  of  wall,  in  the  old  house.  No  spot  was  without  its 
associations.  How  many  a  brilliant  scene  of  gaiety  had 
taken  place  in  the  spacious  parlour  where  bright  eyes  had 
sparkled,  merry  feet  had  twinkled,  and  young  hearts  beat 
high  with  love  and  hope  and  joy  of  living !  And  not  only 
joy  had  passed  that  way,  but  sorrow.  In  the  front  upper 
chamber  his  mother  had  died.  Vividly  he  recalled,  as 
with  closed  eyes  he  lay  back  under  the  barber's  skilful 
hand,  their  last  parting  and  his  own  poignant  grief;  for 
she  had  been  not  only  his  mother,  but  a  woman  of 
character,  who  commanded  respect  and  inspired  affection; 
a  beautiful  woman  whom  he  had  loved  with  a  devotion 
that  bordered  on  reverence. 

Romance,  too,  had  waved  her  magic  wand  over  the  old 
homestead.  His  memory  smiled  indulgently  as  he  re- 
called one  scene.  In  a  corner  of  the  broad  piazza,  he  had 
poured  out  his  youthful  heart,  one  summer  evening,  in 
strains  of  passionate  devotion,  to  his  first  love,  a  beautiful 
woman  of  thirty  who  was  visiting  his  mother,  and  who  had 
told  him  between  smiles  and  tears,  to  be  a  good  boy  and 
wait  a  little  longer,  until  he  was  sure  of  his  own  mind. 
Even  now,  he  breathed,  in  memory,  the  heavy  odour  of  the 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  81 

magnolia  blossoms  which  overhung  the  long  wooden 
porch  bench  or  "jogging  board"  on  which  the  lady  sat, 
while  he  knelt  on  the  hard  floor  before  her.  He  felt  very 
young  indeed  after  she  had  spoken,  but  her  caressing 
touch  upon  his  hair  had  so  stirred  his  heart  that  his  vanity 
had  suffered  no  wound.  Why,  the  family  had  owned  the 
house  since  they  had  owned  the  cemetery  lot!  It  was 
hallowed  by  a  hundred  memories,  and  now! 

"Will  you  have  oil  on  yo'  hair,  suh,  or  bay  rum?" 

"Nichols,"  exclaimed  the  colonel,  "I  should  like  to  buy 
back  the  old  house.     What  do  you  want  for  it?" 

"Why,  colonel,"  stammered  the  barber,  somewhat 
taken  aback  at  the  suddenness  of  the  offer,  "I  hadn' 
r'ally  thought  'bout  sellin'  it.  You  see,  suh,  I've  had  it 
now  for  twenty  years,  and  it  suits  me,  an'  my  child'en 
has  growed  up  in  it — an'  it  kind  of  has  associations,  suh." 

In  principle  the  colonel  was  an  ardent  democrat;  he 
believed  in  the  rights  of  man,  and  extended  the  doctrine 
to  include  all  who  bore  the  human  form.  But  in  fealing 
he  was  an  equally  pronounced  aristocrat.  A  servant's 
rights  he  would  have  defended  to  the  last  ditch;  familiarity 
he  would  have  resented  with  equal  positiveness.  Some- 
thing of  this  ancestral  feeling  stirred  within  him  now. 
While  Nichols's  position  in  reference  to  the  house  was,  in 
principle,  equally  as  correct  as  the  colonel's  own,  and 
superior  in  point  of  time — since  impressions,  like  photo- 
graphs, are  apt  to  grow  dim  with  age,  and  Nichols's  were 
of  much  more  recent  date — the  barber's  display  of  sen- 
timent only  jarred  the  colonel's  sensibilities  and  strength- 
ened his  desire. 

"I  should  advise  you  to  speak  up,  Nichols,"  said  the 
colonel.  "I  had  no  notion  of  buying  the  place  when  I 
came  in,  and  I  may  not  be  of  the  same  mind  to-morrow. 
Name  your  own  price,  but  now's  your  time." 


82  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

The  barber  caught  his  breath.  Such  dispatch  was 
unheard-of  in  Clarendon.  But  Nichols,  a  keen-eyed 
mulatto,  was  a  man  of  thrift  and  good  sense.  He  would 
have  liked  to  consult  his  wife  and  children  about  the  sale, 
but  to  lose  an  opportunity  to  make  a  good  profit  was  to 
fly  in  the  face  of  Providence.  The  house  was  very  old. 
It  needed  shingling  and  painting.  The  floors  creaked; 
the  plaster  on  the  walls  was  loose;  the  chimneys  needed 
pointing  and  the  insurance  was  soon  renewable.  He 
owned  a  smaller  house  in  which  he  could  live.  He  had 
been  told  to  name  his  price;  it  was  as  much  better  to 
make  it  too  high  than  too  low,  as  it  was  easier  to  come 
down  than  to  go  up.  The  would-be  purchaser  was  a 
rich  man;  the  diamond  on  the  third  finger  of  his  left  hand 
alone  would  buy  a  small  house. 

"I  think,  suh,"  he  said,  at  a  bold  venture,  "that  fo' 
thousand  dollars  would  be  'bout  right." 

"I'll  take  it,"  returned  the  colonel,  taking  out  his 
pocket-book.  "Here's  fifty  dollars  to  bind  the  bargain. 
I'll  write  a  receipt  for  you  to  sign." 

The  barber  brought  pen,  ink  and  paper,  and  restrained 
his  excitement  sufficiently  to  keep  silent,  while  the  colonel 
wrote  a  receipt  embodying  the  terms  of  the  contract, 
and  signed  it  with  a  steady  hand. 

"Have  the  deed  drawn  up  as  soon  as  you  like,"  said  the 
colonel,  as  he  left  the  shop,"  and  when  it  is  done  I'll 
give  you  a  draft  for  the  money." 

"Yes,  suh;  thank  you,  suh,  thank  you,  colonel." 

The  barber  had  bought  the  house  at  a  tax  sale  at  a 
time  of  great  financial  distress,  twenty  years  before,  for 
five  hundred  dollars.  He  had  made  a  very  good  sale,  and 
he  lost  no  time  in  having  'he  deed  drawn  up. 

When  the  colonel  reached  the  hotel,  he  found  Phil 
seated  on  the  doorstep  with  a  little  bow-legged  black  boy 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  83 

and  a  little  white  dog.  Phil,  who  had  a  large  heart,  had 
fraternised  with  the  boy  and  fallen  in  love  with  the  dog. 

"Papa,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  buy  this  dog.  His  name 
is  Rover;  he  can  shake  hands,  and  I  like  him  very  much. 
This  little  boy  wants  ten  cents  for  him,  and  I  did  not  have 
the  money.  I  asked  him  to  wait  until  you  came.  May 
I  buy  him?" 

"Certainly,  Phil.     Here,  boy!" 

The  colonel  threw  the  black  boy  a  silver  dollar.  Phil 
took  the  dog  under  his  arm  and  followed  his  father  into 
the  house,  while  the  other  boy,  his  glistening  eyes  glued 
to  the  coin  in  his  hand,  scampered  off  as  fast  as  his  limbs 
would  carry  him.  He  was  back  next  morning  with  a  pretty 
white  kitten,  but  the  colonel  discouraged  any  further  pur- 
chases for  the  time  being. 

"My  dear  Laura,"  said  the  colonel  when  he  saw  his 
friend  the  same  evening,  "I  have  been  in  Clarendon  two 
days ;  and  I  have  already  bought  a  dog,  a  house  and  a  man." 

Miss  Laura  was  startled.  "I  don't  understand,"  she 
said. 

The  colonel  proceeded  to  explain  the  transaction  by 
which  he  had  acquired,  for  life,  the  services  of  old  Peter. 

"I  suppose  it  is  the  law,"  Miss  Laura  said,  "but  it 
seems  hardly  right.  I  had  thought  we  were  well  rid  of 
slavery.  White  men  do  not  work  any  too  much.  Old 
Peter  was  not  idle.  He  did  odd  jobs,  when  he  could  get 
them;  he  was  po!ite  and  respectful;  and  it  was  an 
outrage  to  treat  him  so.     I  am  glad  you — hired  him." 

"Yes — hired  him.  Moreover,  Laura.  I  have  bought 
a  house." 

"A  house!  Then  you  are  going  to  stay!  I  am  so 
glad!  we  shall  all  be  so  glad.     What  house  ?" 

"The  old  place.     I  went  into  the  barber  shop.    The 


84  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

barber  complimented  me  on  the  family  taste  in  architec- 
ture, and  grew  sentimental  about  his  associations  with  the 
house.  This  awoke  my  associations,  and  the  collocation 
jarred — I  was  selfish  enough  to  want  a  monopoly  of  the 
associations.  I  bought  the  house  from  him  before  I 
left  the  shop." 

"But  what  will  you  do  with  it?"  asked  Miss  Laura, 
puzzled.  "You  could  never  live  in  it  again — after  a 
coloured  family?" 

"Why  not?  It  is  no  less  the  old  house  because  the 
barber  has  reared  his  brood  beneath  its  roof.  There 
were  always  Negroes  in  it  when  we  were  there — the  place 
swarmed  with  them.  Hammer  and  plane,  soap  and 
water,  paper  and  paint,  can  make  it  new  again.  The 
barber,  I  understand,  is  a  worthy  man,  and  has  reared  a 
decent  family.     His  daughter  plays  the  piano,  and  sings: 

'  I  dreamt  that  I  dwelt  in  marble  halls, 
With  vassals  and  serfs  by  my  side.' 

I  heard  her  as  I  passed  there  yesterday." 

Miss  Laura  gave  an  apprehensive  start. 

"There  were  Negroes  in  the  house  in  the  old  days," 
he  went  on  unnoticing,  "and  surely  a  good  old  house, 
gone  farther  astray  than  ours,  might  still  be  redeemed  to 
noble  ends.  I  shall  renovate  it  and  live  in  it  while  I  am 
here,  and  at  such  times  as  I  may  return ;  or  if  I  should  tire 
of  it,  I  can  give  it  to  the  town  for  a  school,  or  for  a  hospital 
— there  is  none  here.  I  should  like  to  preserve,  so  far 
as  I  may,  the  old  associations — my  associations.  The 
house  might  not  fall  again  into  hands  as  good  as  those 
of  Nichols,  and  I  should  like  to  know  that  it  was 
devoted  to  some  use  that  would  keep  the  old  name  alive 
in  the  community." 

"I  think,  Henry,"  said  Miss  Laura,  "that  if  your  visit 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  85 

is  long  enough,  you  will  do  more  for  the  town  than  if  you 
had  remained  here  all  your  life.  For  you  have  lived  in  a 
wider  world,  and  acquired  a  broader  view;  and  you  have 
learned  new  things  without  losing  your  love  for  the  old." 


CHAPTER  X 

The  deed  for  the  house  was  executed  on  Friday, 
Nichols  agreeing  to  give  possession  within  a  week.  The 
lavishness  of  the  purchase  price  was  a  subject  of  much 
remark  in  the  town,  and  Nichols's  good  fortune  was  con- 
gratulated or  envied,  according  to  the  temper  of  each 
individual.  The  colonel's  action  in  old  Peter's  case  had 
made  him  a  name  for  generosity.  His  reputation  for  wealth 
was  confirmed  by  this  reckless  prodigality.  There  were 
some  small  souls,  of  course,  among  the  lower  whites  who 
were  heard  to  express  disgust  that,  so  far,  only  "  niggers  " 
had  profited  by  the  colonel's  visit.  The  Anglo-Saxon, 
which  came  out  Saturday  morning,  gave  a  large  amount 
of  space  to  Colonel  French  and  his  doings.  Indeed,  the 
two  compositors  had  remained  up  late  the  night  before, 
setting  up  copy,  and  the  pressman  had  not  reached  home 
until  three  o'clock;  the  kerosene  oil  in  the  office  gave  out, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  rouse  a  grocer  at  midnight  to 
replenish  the  supply — so  far  had  the  advent  of  Colonel 
French  affected  the  life  of  the  town. 

The  Anglo-Saxon  announced  that  Colonel  Henry 
French,  formerly  of  Clarendon,  who  had  won  distinction 
in  the  Confederate  Army,  and  since  the  war  achieved 
fortune  at  the  North,  had  returned  to  visit  his  birthplace 
and  his  former  friends.  The  hope  was  expressed  that 
Colonel  French,  who  had  recently  sold  out  to  a  syndicate 
his  bagging  mills  in  Connecticut,  might  seek  investments 
in  the  South,  whose  vast  undeveloped  resources  needed 
only  the  fructifying  flow  of  abundant  capital  to  make  it 

86 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  87 

blossom  like  the  rose.  The  New  South,  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  declared,  was  happy  to  welcome  capital  and  enter- 
prise, and  hoped  that  Colonel  French  might  find,  in 
Clarendon,  an  agreeable  residence,  and  an  attractive 
opening  for  his  trained  business  energies.  That  some- 
thing of  the  kind  was  not  unlikely,  might  be  gathered 
from  the  fact  that  Colonel  French  had  already  repurchased, 
from  William  Nichols,  a  worthy  negro  barber,  the  old 
French  mansion,  and  had  taken  into  his  service  a  former 
servant  of  the  family,  thus  foreshadowing  a  renewal  of 
local  ties  and  a  prolonged  residence. 

The  conduct  of  the  colonel  in  the  matter  of  his  old 
servant  was  warmly  commended.  The  romantic  circum- 
stances of  their  meeting  in  the  cemetery,  and  the  incident 
in  the  justice's  court,  which  were  matters  of  public  knowl- 
edge and  interest,  showed  that  in  Colonel  French,  should 
he  decide  to  resume  his  residence  in  Clarendon,  his 
fellow  citizens  would  find  an  agreeable  neighbour,  whose 
sympathies  would  be  with  the  South  in  those  diflfi  ult 
matters  upon  which  North  and  South  had  so  often  been 
at  variance,  but  upoi  which  they  were  now  rapidly 
becoming  one  in*sentiment. 

The  colonel,  whose  active  mind  could  not  long  remain 
unoccupied,  was  busily  engaged  during  the  next  week, 
partly  in  making  plans  for  the  renovation  of  the  old 
homestead,  partly  in  correspondence  with  Kirby  con- 
cerning the  winding  up  of  the  loose  ends  of  their  former 
business.  Thus  compelled  to  leave  Phil  to  the  care  of 
some  one  else,  he  had  an  excellent  opportunity  to  utilise 
Peter's  services.  When  the  old  man,  proud  of  his  new 
clothes,  and  relieved  of  any  responsibility  for  his  own 
future,  first  appeared  at  the  hotel,  the  colonel  was  ready 
with  a  commission. 

"Now,   Peter,"   he   said,   "I'm  going   to  prove   my 


88  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

confidence  in  you,  and  test  your  devotion  to  the  family, 
by  giving  you  charge  of  Phil.  You  may  come  and 
get  him  in  the  morning  after  breakfast — you  can  get 
your  meals  in  the  hotel  kitchen — and' take  him  to  walk 
in  the  streets  or  the  cemetery;  but  you  must  be  very 
careful,  for  he  is  all  I  have  in  the  world.  In  other  words, 
Peter,  you  are  to  take  as  good  care  of  Phil  as  you  did  of 
me  when  I  was  a  little  boy." 

"  I'll  look  aftuh  'im,  Mars  Henry,  lak  he  wuz  a  lump  er 
pyo'  gol'.  Me  an'  him  will  git  along  fine,  won't  we,  little 
Mars  Phil?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  the  child.  "I  like  you,  Uncle 
Peter,  and  I'll  be  glad  to  go  with  you." 

Phil  and  the  old  man  proved  excellent  friends,  and  the 
colonel,  satisfied  that  the  boy  would  be  well  cared  for, 
gave  his  attention  to  the  business  of  the  hour.  As  soon 
as  Nichols  moved  out  of  the  old  house,  there  was  a  shaking 
of  the  dry  bones  among  the  mechanics  of  the  town.  A 
small  army  of  workmen  invaded  the  premises,  and  repairs 
and  improvements  of  all  descriptions  went  rapidly  forward 
— much  more  rapidly  than  was  usual  in  Clarendon,  for  the 
colonel  let  all  his  work  by  contract,  and  by  a  system  of 
forfeits  and  premiums  kept  it  going  at  high  pressure.  In 
two  weeks  the  house  was  shingled,  painted  inside  and  out, 
the  fences  were  renewed,  the  outhouses  renovated,  and 
the  grounds  put  in  order. 

The  stream  of  ready  money  thus  put  into  circulation  by 
the  colonel,  soon  permeated  all  the  channels  of  local  enter- 
prise. The  barber,  out  of  his  profits,  began  the  erection 
of  a  row  of  small  houses  for  coloured  tenants.  This 
gave  employment  to  masons  and  carpenters,  and  involved 
the  sale  and  purchase  of  considerable  building  material. 
General  trade  felt  the  influence  of  the  enhanced  pros- 
perity.    Groceries,  dry-goods  stores  and  saloons,  did  a 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  89 

thriving  business.  The  ease  with  which  the  simply 
organised  community  responded  to  so  slight  an  inflow  of 
money  and  energy,  was  not  without  a  pronounced  influ- 
ence upon  the  colonel's  future  conduct. 

When  his  house  was  finished,  Colonel  French  hired  a 
housekeeper,  a  coloured  maid,  a  cook  and  a  coachman, 
bought  several  horses  and  carriages,  and,  having  sent  to 
New  York  for  his  books  and  pictures  and  several  articles 
of  furniture  which  he  had  stored  there,  began  housekeeping 
in  his  own  establishment.  Succumbing  willingly  to  the 
charm  of  old  associations,  and  entering  more  fully  into 
the  social  life  of  the  town,  he  began  insensibly  to  think 
of  Clarendon  as  an  established  residence,  where  he  would 
look  forward  to  spending  a  certain  portion  of  each  year. 
The  climate  was  good  for  Phil,  and  to  bring  up  the  boy 
safely  would  be  henceforth  his  chief  concern  in  life.  In 
the  atmosphere  of  the  old  town  the  ideas  of  race  and  blood 
attained  a  new  and  larger  perspective.  It  would  be  too 
bad  for  an  old  family,  with  a  fine  history,  to  die  out,  and 
Phil  was  the  latest  of  the  line  and  the  sole  hope  of  its 
continuance. 

The  colonel  was  conscious,  somewhat  guiltily  conscious, 
that  he  had  neglected  the  South  and  all  that  pertained 
to  it — except  the  market  for  burlaps  and  bagging,  which 
several  Southern  sales  agencies  had  attended  to  on  behalf 
of  his  firm.  He  was  aware,  too,  that  he  had  felt  a  certain 
amount  of  contempt  for  its  poverty,  its  quixotic  devotion 
to  lost  causes  and  vanished  ideals,  and  a  certain  disgusted 
impatience  with  a  people  who  persistently  lagged  behind 
in  the  march  of  progress,  and  permitted  a  handful  of 
upstart,  blatant,  self-seeking  demagogues  to  misrepresent 
them,  in  Congress  and  before  the  country,  by  intemperate 
language  and  persistent  hostility  to  a  humble  but  large 
and  important  part  of  their  own  constituency.     But  he 


90  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

was  glad  to  find  that  this  was  the  mere  froth  upon  the 
surface,  and  that  underneath  it,  deep  down  in  the  hearts 
of  the  people,  the  currents  of  life  flowed,  if  less  swiftly, 
not  less  purely  than  in  more  favoured  places. 

The  town  needed  an  element,  which  he  could  in  a 
measure  supply  by  residing  there,  if  for  only  a  few  weeks 
each  year.  And  that  element  was  some  point  of  contact 
with  the  outer  world  and  its  more  advanced  thought. 
He  might  induce  some  of  his  Northern  friends  to  follow 
his  example;  there  were  many  for  whom  the  mild  climate 
in  Winter  and  the  restful  atmosphere  at  all  seasons  of  the 
year,  would  be  a  boon  which  correctly  informed  people 
would  be  eager  to  enjoy. 

Of  the  extent  to  which  the  influence  of  the  Treadwell 
household  had  contributed  to  this  frame  of  mind, 
the  colonel  was  not  conscious.  He  had  received  the 
freedom  of  the  town,  and  many  hospitable  doors 
were  open  to  him.  As  a  single  man,  with  an  interesting 
little  motherless  child,  he  did  not  lack  for  the  smiles  of 
fair  ladies,  of  which  the  town  boasted  not  a  few.  But 
Mrs.  Treadwell's  home  held  the  first  place  in  his  affec- 
tions. He  had  been  there  first,  and  first  impressions  are 
vivid.  They  had  been  kind  to  Phil,  who  loved  them  all, 
and  insisted  on  Peter's  taking  him  there  every  day.  The 
colonel  found  pleasure  in  Miss  Laura's  sweet  simplicity 
and  openness  of  character;  to  which  Graciella's  vivacity 
and  fresh  young  beauty  formed  an  attractive  counter- 
part; and  Mrs.  Treadwell's  plaintive  minor  note  had 
soothed  and  satisfied  Colonel  French  in  this  emotional 
Indian  Summer  which  marked  his  reaction  from  a  long 
and  arduous  business  career. 


CHAPTER  XI 

In  addition  to  a  pronounced  attractiveness  of  form 
and  feature,  Miss  Graciella  Treadwell  possessed  a  fine 
complexion,  a  clear  eye,  and  an  elastic  spirit.  She  was  also 
well  endowed  with  certain  other  characteristics  of  youth; 
among  them  ingenuousness,  which,  if  it  be  a  fault,  experi- 
ence is  sure  to  correct;  and  impulsiveness,  which  even 
the  school  of  hard  knocks  is  not  always  able  to  eradicate, 
though  it  may  chasten.  To  the  good  points  of  Graciella, 
could  be  added  an  untroubled  conscience,  at  least  up  to 
that  period  when  Colonel  French  dawned  upon  her  hori- 
zon, and  for  some  time  thereafter.  If  she  had  put  herself 
foremost  in  all  her  thoughts,  it  had  been  the  unconscious 
egotism  of  youth,  with  no  definite  purpose  of  self-seeking. 
The  things  for  which  she  wished  most  were  associated 
with  distant  places,  and  her  longing  for  them  had  never 
taken  the  form  of  envy  of  those  around  her.  Indeed  envy 
is  scarcely  a  vice  of  youth;  it  is  a  weed  that  flourishes  best 
after  the  flower  of  hope  has  begun  to  wither.  Graciella's 
views  of  life,  even  her  youthful  romanticism  were  sane 
and  healthful;  but  since  she  had  not  been  tried  in  the 
furnace  of  experience,  it  could  only  be  said  of  her  that  she 
belonged  to  the  class,  always  large,  but  shifting  like  the 
sands  of  the  sea,  who  have  never  been  tempted,  and  there- 
fore do  not  know  whether  they  would  sin  or  not. 

It  was  inevitable,  with  such  a  nature  as  Graciella's,  in 
such  an  embodiment,  that  the  time  should  come,  at  some 
important  crisis  of  her  life,  when  she  must  choose  between 
different  courses;  nor  was  it  likely  that  ohe  could  avoid 

91 


92  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

what  comes  sometime  to  all  of  us,  the  necessity  of  choosing 
between  good  and  evil.  Her  liking  for  Colonel  French  had 
grown  since  their  first  meeting.  He  knew  so  many  things 
that  Graciella  wished  to  know,  that  when  he  came  to 
the  house  she  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  in  conversation 
with  him.  Her  aunt  Laura  was  often  busy  with  house- 
hold duties,  and  Graciella,  as  the  least  employed  member 
of  the  family,  was  able  to  devote  herself  to  his  enter- 
tainment. Colonel  French,  a  comparatively  idle  man  at 
this  period,  found  her  prattle  very  amusing. 

It  was  not  unnatural  for  Graciella  to  think  that  this 
acquaintance  might  be  of  future  value;  she  could 
scarcely  have  thought  otherwise.  If  she  should  ever  go  to 
New  York,  a  rich  and  powerful  friend  would  be  well 
worth  having.  Should  her  going  there  be  delayed  very 
long,  she  would  nevertheless  have  a  tie  of  friendship  in 
the  great  city,  and  a  source  to  which  she  might  at  any 
time  apply  for  information.  Her  fondness  for  Colonel 
French's  society  was,  however,  up  to  a  certain  time, 
entirely  spontaneous,  and  coloured  by  no  ulterior  purpose. 
Her  hope  that  his  friendship  might  prove  valuable  was  an 
afterthought. 

It  was  during  this  happy  period  that  she  was  standing, 
one  day,  by  the  garden  gate,  when  Colonel  French  passed 
by  in  his  fine  new  trap,  driving  a  spirited  horse;  and  it 
was  with  perfect  candour  that  she  waved  her  hand  to  him 
familiarly. 

"Would  you  like  a  drive?"  he  called. 

"  Wouldn't  I  ? "  she  replied.     "  Wait  till  I  tell  the  folks." 

She  was  back  in  a  moment,  and  ran  out  of  the  gate  and 
down  the  steps.  The  colonel  gave  her  his  hand  and  she 
sprang  up  beside  him. 

They  drove  through  the  cemetery,  and  into  the  outlying 
part  of  the  town,  where  there  were  some  shaded  woodland 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  93 

stretches.  It  was  a  pleasant  afternoon;  cloudy  enough  to 
hide  the  sun.  Graciella's  eyes  sparkled  and  her  cheek 
glowed  with  pleasure,  while  her  light  brown  hair  blown 
about  her  face  by  the  breeze  of  their  rapid  motion  was 
like  an  aureole. 

"Colonel  French,"  she  said  as  they  were  walking  the 
horse  up  a  hill,  "are  you  going  to  give  a  house  warming?" 

"Why,"  he  said,  "I  hadn't  thought  of  it.  Ought  I  to 
give  a  house  warming?" 

"You  surely  ought.  Everybody  will  want  to  see  your 
house  while  it  is  new  and  bright.  You  certainly  ought 
to  have  a  house  warming." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  colonel.  "I  make  it  a  rule  to 
shirk  no  plain  duty.  If  I  ought  to  have  a  house  warming, 
I  will  have  it.  And  you  shall  be  my  social  mentor.  What 
sort  of  a  party  shall  it  be  ?" 

"Why  not  make  it,"  she  said  brightly,  "just  such  a 
party  as  your  father  would  have  had.  You  have  the  old 
house,  and  the  old  furniture.     Give  an  old-time  party." 

In  fitting  up  his  house  the  colonel  had  been  animated 
by  the  same  feeling  that  had  moved  him  to  its  purchase. 
He  had  endeavoured  to  restore,  as  far  as  possible,  the 
interior  as  he  remembered  it  in  his  childhood.  At  his 
father's  death  the  furniture  had  been  sold  and  scattered. 
He  had  been  able,  through  the  kindly  interest  of  his 
friends,  to  recover  several  of  the  pieces.  Others  that 
were  lost  past  hope,  had  been  reproduced  from  their 
description.  Among  those  recovered  was  a  fine  pair  of 
brass  andirons,  and  his  father's  mahogany  desk,  which 
had  been  purchased  by  Major  Treadwell  at  the  sale  of 
the  elder  French's  effects. 

Miss  Laura  had  been  the  first  to  speak  of  the  desk. 

"Henry,"  she  had  said,  "the  house  would  not  be  com- 


94  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

plete  without  your  father's  desk.  It  was  my  father's  too, 
but  yours  is  the  prior  claim.     Take  it  as  a  gift  from  me." 

He  protested,  and  would  have  paid  for  it  liberally,  and, 
when  she  would  take  nothing,  declared  he  would  not 
accept  it  on  such  terms. 

"You  are  selfish,  Henry,"  she  replied,  with  a  smile. 
"You  have  brought  a  new  interest  into  our  lives,  and  into 
the  town,  and  you  will  not  let  us  make  you  any  return." 

"But  I  am  taking  from  you  something  you  need,"  he 
replied,  "and  for  which  you  paid.  When  Major  Tread- 
well  bought  it,  it  was  merely  second-hand  furniture,  sold 
under  the  hammer.  Now  it  has  the  value  of  an  antique — 
it  is  a  fine  piece  and  could  be  sold  in  New  York  for  a  large 
sum." 

"You  must  take  it  for  nothing,  or  not  at  all,"  she 
replied  firmly. 

"It  is  highway  robbery,"  he  said,  and  could  not  make 
up  his  mind  to  yield. 

Next  day,  when  the  colonel  went  home,  after  having  been 
down  town  an  hour,  he  found  the  desk  in  his  library.  The 
Treadwell  ladies  had  corrupted  Peter,  who  had  told  them 
when  the  colonel  would  be  out  of  the  house  and  had 
brought  a  cart  to  take  the  desk  away. 

When  the  house  was  finished,  the  interior  was  simple 
but  beautiful.  It  was  furnished  in  the  style  that  had  been 
prevalent  fifty  years  before.  There  were  some  modern 
additions  in  the  line  of  comfort  and  luxury — soft  chairs, 
fine  rugs,  and  a  few  choice  books  and  pictures — for  the 
colonel  had  not  attempted  to  conform  his  own  tastes  and 
habits  to  those  of  his  father.  He  had  some  visitors, 
mostly  gentlemen,  and  there  was,  as  Graciella  knew, 
a  lively  curiosity  among  the  ladies  to  see  the  house 
and  its  contents. 

The  suggestion  of  a  house  warming  had  come  originally 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  95 

from  Mrs.  Treadwell;  but  Graciella  had  promptly  made 
it  her  own  and  conveyed  it  to  the  colonel. 

"A  bright  idea,"  he  replied.  "  By  all  means  let  it  be  an  old- 
time  party — say  such  a  party  as  my  father  would  have  given, 
or  my  grandfather.     And  shall  we  invite  the  old  people  ?  " 

"Well,"  replied  Graciella  judicially,  "don't  have  them 
so  old  that  they  can't  talk  or  hear,  and  must  be  fed  with 
a  spoon.  If  there  were  too  many  old,  or  not  enough  young 
people,  I  shouldn't  enjoy  myself." 

"I  suppose  I  seem  awfully  old  to  you,"  said  the  colonel, 
parenthetically. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Graciella,  giving  him  a 
frankly  critical  look.  "When  you  first  came  I  thought 
you  were  rather  old — you  see,  you  are  older  than  Aunt 
Laura;  but  you  seem  to  have  grown  younger — it's  curious, 
but  it's  true — and  now  I  hardly  think  of  you  as  old  at  all." 

The  colonel  was  secretly  flattered.  The  wisest  man 
over  forty  likes  to  be  thought  young. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "you  shall  select  the  guests." 

"At  an  old-time  party,"  continued  Graciella,  thought- 
fully, "the  guests  should  wear  old-time  clothes.  In  grand- 
mother's time  the  ladies  wore  long  flowing  sleeves " 

"And  hoopskirts,"  said  the  colonel. 

"And  their  hair  down  over  their  ears." 

"Or  in  ringlets." 

"Yes,  it  is  all  in  grandmother's  bound  volume  of  The 
Ladies'  Book"  said  Graciella.  "I  was  reading  it  only 
last  week." 

"My  mother  took  it,"  returned  the  colonel. 

"Then  you  must  have  read  'Letters  from  a  Pastry 
Cook,'  by  N.  P.  Willis  when  they  came  out?" 

"No,"  said  the  colonel  with  a  sigh,  "I  missed  that.  I 
— I  wasn't  able  to  read  then." 


96  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

Graciella  indulged  in  a  brief  mental  calculation. 

"Why,  of  course  not/'  she  laughed,  "you  weren't  even 
born  when  they  came  out!  But  they're  fine;  I'll  lend  you 
our  copy.  You  must  ask  all  the  girls  to  dress  as  their  mothers 
and  grandmothers  used  to  dress.  Make  the  requirement 
elastic,  because  some,  of  them  may  not  have  just  the  things 
for  one  particular  period.  I'm  all  right.  We  have  a 
cedar  chest  in  the  attic,  full  of  old  things.  Won't  I  look 
funny  in  a  hoop  skirt?" 

"You'll  look  charming  in  anything,"  said  the  colonel. 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  pay  Graciella  compliments,  she  so 
frankly  enjoyed  them;  and  the  colonel  loved  to  make 
others  happy.  In  his  New  York  firm  Mr.  French  was 
always  ready  to  consider  a  request  for  an  advance  of  salary; 
Kirby  had  often  been  obliged  to  play  the  wicked  partner 
in  order  to  keep  expenses  down  to  a  normal  level.  At 
parties  debutantes  had  always  expected  Mr.  French  to 
say  something  pleasant  to  them,  and  had  rarely  been  dis- 
appointed. 

The  subject  of  the  party  was  resumed  next  day  at  Mrs. 
Treadwell's,  where  the  colonel  went  in  the  afternoon  to 
call. 

"An  old-time  party,"  declared  the  colonel,  "should  have 
old-time  amusements.  We  must  have  a  fiddler,  a  black 
fiddler,  to  play  quadrilles  and  the  Virginia  Reel." 

"I  don't  know  where  you'll  find  one,"  said  Miss  Laura. 

"I'll  ask  Peter,"  replied  the  colonel.  "He  ought  to 
know." 

Peter  was  in  the  yard  with  Phil 

"Lawd,  Mars  Henry!"  said  Peter,  "fiddlers  is  mighty 
sca'ce  dese  days,  but  I  reckon  ole  'Poleon  Campbell  kin 
make  you  shake  yo'  feet  yit,  ef  Ole  Man  Rheumatiz  ain' 
ketched  holt  er  'im  too  tight." 

"And  I  will  play  a  minuet  on  your  new  piano,"  said 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  97 

Miss  Laura,  "and  teach  the  girls  beforehand  how  to  dance 
it.     There  should  be  cards  for  those  who  do  not  dance." 

So  the  party  was  arranged.  Miss  Laura,  Graciella 
and  the  colonel  made  out  the  list  of  guests.  The  invita- 
tions were  duly  sent  out  for  an  old-time  party,  with  old- 
time  costumes — any  period  between  1830  and  1860  per- 
missible— and  old-time  entertainment. 

The  announcement  created  some  excitement  in  social 
circles,  and,  like  all  of  Colonel  French's  enterprises  at  that 
happy  period  of  his  home-coming,  brought  prosperity  in 
its  train.  Dressmakers  were  kept  busy  making  and  alter- 
ing costumes  for  the  ladies.  Old  Archie  Christmas,  the 
mulatto  tailor,  sole  survivor  of  a  once  flourishing  craft — 
Mr.  Cohen's  Universal  Emporium  supplied  the  general 
public  with  ready-made  clothing,  and,  twice  a  year,  the 
travelling  salesman  of  a  New  York  tailoring  firm  visited 
Clarendon  with  samples  of  suitings,  and  took  orders  and 
measurements — old  Archie  Christmas,  who  had  not  made 
a  full  suit  of  clothes  for  years,  was  able,  by  making  and 
altering  men's  garments  for  the  colonel's  party,  to  earn 
enough  to  keep  himself  alive  for  another  twelve  months. 
Old  Peter  was  at  Archie's  shop  one  day,  and  they  were 
talking  about  old  times — good  old  times — for  to  old  men 
old  times  are  always  good  times,  though  history  may  tell 
another  tale. 

"Yo'  boss  is  a  godsen'  ter  dis  town,"  declared  old 
Archie,  "he  sho'  is.  De  w'ite  folks  says  de  young  niggers  is 
triflin'  'cause  dey  don'  larn  how  to  do  nothin'.  But  what 
is  dere  fer  'em  to  do  ?  I  kin  'member  when  dis  town  was 
full  er  black  an'  yaller'carpenters  an'  'j'iners,  blacksmiths, 
wagon  makers,  shoemakers,  tinners,  saddlers  an'  cab 'net 
makers.  Now  all  de  fu'nicher,  de  shoes,  de  wagons,  de 
buggies,  de  tinware,  de  hoss  shoes,  de  nails  to  fasten  'em 
on  wid — yas,  an'  fo'  de  Lawd!  even  de  clothes  dat  folks 


98  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

wears  on  dere  backs,  is  made  at  de  Norf,  an'  dere  am' 
nothin'  lef  fer  de  ole  niggers  ter  do,  let  'lone  de  young 
ones.  Yo'  boss  is  de  right  kin';  I  hopes  he'll  stay  'roun' 
here  till  you  an'  me  dies." 

"I  hopes  wid  you,"  said  Peter  fervently,  "I  sho'  does! 
Yas  indeed  I  does." 

Peter  was  entirely  sincere.  Never  in  his  life  had  he 
worn  such  good  clothes,  eaten  such  good  food,  or  led  so 
easy  a  life  as  in  the  colonel's  service.  Even  the  old  times 
paled  by  comparison  with  this  new  golden  age;  and  the 
long  years  of  poverty  and  hard  luck  that  stretched  behind 
him  seemed  to  the  old  man  like  a  distant  and  unpleasant 
dream. 

The  party  came  off  at  the  appointed  time,  and  was  a 
distinct  success.  Graciella  had  made  a  raid  on  the 
cedar  chest,  and  shone  resplendent  in  crinoline,  curls, 
and  a  patterned  muslin.  Together  with  Miss  Laura  and 
Ben  Dudley,  who  had  come  in  from  Mink  Run  for  the 
party,  she  was  among  the  first  to  arrive.  Miss  Laura's 
costume,  which  belonged  to  an  earlier  date,  was  in  keeping 
with  her  quiet  dignity.  Ben  wore  a  suit  of  his  uncle's, 
which  the  care  of  old  Aunt  Viney  had  preserved  wonder- 
fully well  from  moth  and  dust  through  the  years.  The 
men  wore  stocks  and  neckcloths,  bell-bottomed  trousers 
with  straps  under  their  shoes,  and  frock  coats  very  full  at 
the  top  and  buttoned  tightly  at  the  waist.  Old  Peter,  in  a 
long  blue  coat  with  brass  buttons,  acted  as  butler,  helped 
by  a  young  Negro  who  did  the  heavy  work.  Miss  Laura's 
servant  Catherine  had  rallied  from  her  usual  gloom  and 
begged  the  privilege  of  acting  as  lady's  maid.  'Poleon 
Campbell,  an  old-time  Negro  fiddler,  whom  Peter  had 
resurrected  from  some  obscure  cabin,  oiled  his  rheumatic 
joints,  tuned  his  fiddle  and  rosined  his  bow,  and  under 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  99 

the  inspiration  of  good  food  and  drink  and  liberal  wage, 
played  through  his  whole  repertory,  which  included  such 
ancient  favourites  as,  "Fishers'  Hornpipe,"  "Soldiers' 
Joy,"  "Chicken  in  the  Bread-tray,"  and  the  "Campbells 
are  Coming."  Miss  Laura  played  a  minuet,  which  the 
young  people  danced.  Major  McLean  danced  the  high- 
land fling,  and  scfme  of  the  ladies  sang  old-time  songs,  and 
war  lyrics,  which  stirred  the  heart  and  moistened  the  eyes. 

Little  Phil,  in  a  child's  costume  of  1840,  copied  from 
the  Ladies'  Book,  was  petted  and  made  much  of  for  several 
hours,  until  he  became  sleepy  and  was  put  to  bed. 

"Graciella,"  said  the  colonel  to  his  young  friend,  during 
the  evening,  "our  party  is  a  great  success.  It  was  your 
idea.  When  it  is  all  over,  I  want  to  make  you  a  present  in 
token  of  my  gratitude.  You  shall  select  it  yourself;  it 
shall  be  whatever  you  say." 

Graciella  was  very  much  elated  at  this  mark  of  the 
colonel's  friendship.  She  did  not  dream  of  declining  the 
proffered  token,  and  during  the  next  dance  her  mind  was 
busily  occupied  with  the  question  of  what  it  should  be — 
a  ring,  a  bracelet,  a  bicycle,  a  set  of  books  ?  She  needed  a 
dozen  things,  and  would  have  liked  to  possess  a  dozen 
others. 

She  had  not  yet  decided,  when  Ben  came  up  to 
claim  her  for  a  dance.  On  his  appearance,  she  was 
struck  by  a  sudden  idea.  Colonel  French  was  a  man  of 
affairs.  In  New  York  he  must  have  a  wide  circle  of  in- 
fluential acquaintances.  Old  Mr.  Dudley  was  in  failing 
health;  he  might  die  at  any  time,  and  Ben  would  then  be 
free  to  seek  employment  away  from  Clarendon.  What 
better  place  for  him  than  New  York?  With  a  position 
there,  he  would  be  able  to  marry  her,  and  take  her  there  to 
live. 

This,  she  decided,  should  be  her  request  of  the  colonel 


100  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

— that  he  should  help  her  lover  to  a  place  in  New  York. 

Her  conclusion  was  really  magnanimous.  She  might 
profit  by  it  in  the  end,  but  Ben  would  be  the  first 
beneficiary.  It  was  an  act  of  self-denial,  for  she  was  giving 
up  a  definite  and  certain  good  for  a  future  contingency. 

She  was  therefore  in  a  pleasant  glow  of  self-congratula- 
tory mood  when  she  accidentally  overheard  a  conversation 
not  intended  for  her  ears.  She  had  run  out  to  the  dining- 
room  to  speak  to  the  housekeeper  about  the  refreshments, 
and  was  returning  through  the  hall,  when  she  stopped  for  a 
moment  to  look  into  the  library,  where  those  who  did  not 
care  to  dance  were  playing  cards. 

Beyond  the  door,  with  their  backs  turned  toward  her, 
sat  two  ladies  engaged  in  conversation.  One  was  a  widow, 
a  well-known  gossip,  and  the  other  a  wife  known  to  be 
unhappily  married.  They  were  no  longer  young,  and 
their  views  were  marked  by  the  cynicism  of  seasoned 
experience. 

"Oh,  there's  no  doubt  about  it,"  said  the  widow.  "He 
came  down  here  to  find  a  wife.  He  tried  a  Yankee  wife, 
and  didn't  like  the  breed;  and  when  he  was  ready  for 
number  two,  he  came  back  South." 

"He  showed  good  taste,"  said  the  other. 

"That  depends,"  said  the  widow,  "upon  whom  he 
chooses.     He  can  probably  have  his  pick." 

"  No  doubt,"  rejoined  the  married  lady,  with  a  touch  of 
sarcasm,  which  the  widow,  who  was  still  under  forty,  chose 
to  ignore. 

"I  wonder  which  is  it?"  said  the  widow.  "I  suppose 
it's  Laura;  he  spends  a  great  deal  of  time  there,  and  she's 
devoted  to  his  little  boy,  or  pretends  to  be." 

"Don't  fool  yourself,"  replied  the  other  earnestly,  and 
not  without  a  subdued  pleasure  in  disabusing  the  widow's 
mind.     "Don't  fool  yourself,  my  dear.     A  man  of  his  age 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  101 

doesn't  marry  a  woman  of  Laura  Treadwell's.  Believe 
me,  it's  the  little  one." 

"But  she  has  a  beau.  There's  that  tall  nephew  of  old 
Mr.  Dudley's.  He's  been  hanging  around  her  for  a  year 
or  two.     He  looks  very  handsome  to-night." 

"Ah,  well,  she'll  dispose  of  him  fast  enough  when  the 
time  comes.  He*s  only  a  poor  stick,  the  last  of  a  good 
stock  run  to  seed.  Why,  she's  been  pointedly  setting  her 
cap  at  the  colonel  all  the  evening.  He's  perfectly  infat- 
uated; he  has  danced  with  her  three  times  to  once  with 
Laura." 

"It's  sad  to  see  a  man  make  a  fool  of  himself,"  sighed 
the  widow,  who  was  not  without  some  remnants  of  beauty 
and  a  heart  still  warm  and  willing.  "Children  are  very 
forward  nowadays." 

"There's  no  fool  like  an  old  fool,  my  dear,"  replied  the 
other  with  the  cheerful  philosophy  of  the  miserable  who 
love  company,  "These  fair  women  are  always  selfish 
and  calculating;  and  she's  a  bold  piece.  My  husband 
says  Colonel  French  is  worth  at  least  a  million.  A  young 
wife,  who  understands  her  business,  could  get  anything 
from  him  that  money  can  buy." 

"What  a  pity,  my  dear,"  said  the  widow,  with  a  spice 
of  malice,  seeing  her  own  opportunity,  "what  a  pity  that 
you  were  older  than  your  husband!  Well,  it  will  be  for- 
tunate for  the  child  if  she  marries  an  old  man,  for  beauty 
of  her  type  fades  early." 

Old  'Poleon's  fiddle,  to  which  one  of  the  guests  was 
improvising  an  accompaniment  on  the  colonel's  new  piano, 
had  struck  up  "  Camptown  Races,"  and  the  rollicking  lilt 
of  the  chorus  was  resounding  through  the  house. 

"  Gwine  ter  run  all  night, 
Gwine  ter  run  all  day, 
I'll  bet  my  money  on  de  bobtail  nag, 
Oh,  who's  gwine  ter  bet  on  de  bay  ?  " 


102  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

Ben  ran  out  into  the  hall.  Graciella  had  changed  her 
position  and  was  sitting  alone,  perturbed  in  mind. 

"Come  on,  Graciella,  let's  get  into  the  Virginia  reel;  it's 
the  last  one." 

Graciella  obeyed  mechanically.  Ben,  on  the  contrary, 
was  unusually  animated.  He  had  enjoyed  the  party 
better  than  any  he  had  ever  attended.  He  had  not  been 
at  many. 

Colonel  French,  who  had  entered  with  zest  into  the  spirit 
of  the  occasion,  participated  in  the  reel.  Every  time 
Graciella  touched  his  hand,  it  was  with  the  consciousness 
of  a  new  element  in  their  relations.  Until  then  her  friend- 
ship for  Colonel  French  had  been  perfectly  ingenuous. 
She  had  liked  him  because  he  was  interesting,  and  good 
to  her  in  a  friendly  way.  Now  sho  realised  that  he 
was  a  millionaire,  eligible  for  marriage,  from  whom  a 
young  wife,  if  she  understood  her  business,  might  secure 
the  gratification  of  every  wish. 

The  serpent  had  entered  Eden.  Graciella  had  been 
tendered  the  apple.  She  must  choose  now  whether  she 
would  eat. 

When  the  party  broke  up,  the  colonel  was  congratulated 
on  every  hand.  He  had  not  only  given  his  guests  a  delight- 
ful evening.  He  had  restored  an  ancient  landmark;  had 
recalled,  to  a  people  whose  life  lay  mostly  in  the  past,  the 
glory  of  days  gone  by,  and  proved  his  loyalty  to  their  cher- 
ished traditions. 

Ben  Dudley  walked  home  with  Graciella.  Miss  Laura 
went  ahead  of  them  with  Catherine,  who  was  cheerful  in 
the  possession  of  a  substantial  reward  for  her  services. 

"You're  not  sayin'  much  to-night,"  said  Ben  to  his 
sweetheart,  as  they  walked  along  under  the  trees. 

Graciella  did  not  respond. 

"You're  not  sayin'  much  to-night,"  he  repeated. 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  103 

"Yes,"  returned  Graciella  abstractedly,  "it  was  a  lovely 
party!" 

Ben  said  no  more.  The  house  warming  had  also  given 
him  food  for  thought.  He  had  noticed  the  colonel's 
attentions  to  Graciella,  and  had  heard  them  remarked 
upon.  Colonel  French  was  more  than  old  enough  to  be 
Graciella's  father;  but  he  was  rich.  Graciella  was  poor 
and  ambitious.  Ben's  only  assets  were  youth  and  hope, 
and  priority  in  the  field  his  only  claim. 

Miss  Laura  and  Catherine  had  gone  in,  and  when  the 
young  people  came  to  the  gate,  the  light  still  shone  through 
the  open  door. 

"Graciella,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  in  his  as  they 
stood  a  moment,  "will  you  marry  me?" 

"Still  harping  on  the  same  old  string,"  she  said,  with- 
drawing her  hand.  "I'm  tired  now,  Ben,  too  tired  to  talk 
foolishness." 

"Very  well,  I'll  save  it  for  next  time.  Good  night, 
sweetheart." 

She  had  closed  the  gate  between  them.  He  leaned  over 
it  to  kiss  her,  but  she  evaded  his  caress  and  ran  lightly  up 
the  steps. 

"Good  night,  Ben,"  she  called. 

"Good  night,  sweetheart,"  he  replied,  with  a  pang  of 
foreboding. 

In  after  years,  when  the  colonel  looked  back  upon  his 
residence  in  Clarendon,  this  seemed  to  him  the  golden 
moment.  There  were  other  times  that  stirred  deeper 
emotions — the  lust  of  battle,  the  joy  of  victory,  the  chagrin 
of  defeat — moments  that  tried  his  soul  with  tests  almost 
too  hard.  But,  thus  far,  his  new  career  in  Clarendon  had 
been  one  of  pleasant  experiences  only,  and  this  unclouded 
hour  was  its  fitting  crown. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Whenever  the  colonel  visited  the  cemetery,  or  took  a 
walk  in  that  pleasant  quarter  of  the  town,  he  had  to  cross 
the  bridge  from  which  was  visible  the  site  of  the  old  Eureka 
cotton  mill  of  his  boyhood,  and  it  was  not  difficult  to  recall 
that  it  had  been,  before  the  War,  a  busy  hive  of  industry. 
On  a  narrow  and  obscure  street,  little  more  than  an  alley, 
behind  the  cemetery,  there  were  still  several  crumbling 
tenements,  built  for  the  mill  operatives,  but  now  occupied 
by  a  handful  of  abjectly  poor  whites,  who  kept  body  and 
soul  together  through  the  doubtful  mercy  of  God  and  a 
small  weekly  dole  from  the  poormaster.  The  mill  pond, 
while  not  wide-spreading,  had  extended  back  some  dis- 
tance between  the  sloping  banks,  and  had  furnished 
swimming  holes,  fishing  holes,  and  what  was  more  to  the 
point  at  present,  a  very  fine  head  of  water,  which,  as  it 
struck  the  colonel  more  forcibly  each  time  he  saw  it, 
offered  an  opportunity  that  the  town  could  ill  afford  to 
waste.  Shrewd  minds  in  the  cotton  industry  had  long 
ago  conceived  the  idea  that  the  South,  by  reason  of 
its  nearness  to  the  source  of  raw  material,  its  abundant 
water  power,  and  its  cheaper  labour,  partly  due  to  the 
smaller  cost  of  living  in  a  mild  climate,  and  the  absence 
of  labour  agitation,  was  destined  in  time  to  rival  and 
perhaps  displace  New  England  in  cotton  manufactur- 
ing. Many  Southern  mills  were  already  in  successful 
operation.  But  from  lack  of  capital,  or  lack  of  enter- 
prise, nothing  of  the  kind  had  ever  been  undertaken 
in    Clarendon    although    the   town    was    the   centre    of 

104 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  105 

a  cotton-raising  district,  and  there  was  a  mill  in  an 
adjoining  county.  Men  who  owned  land  mortgaged 
it  for  money  to  raise  cotton;  men  who  rented  land  from 
others  mortgaged  their  crops  for  the  same  purpose. 

It  was  easy  to  borrow  money  in  Clarendon — on  adequate 
security — at  ten  per  cent.,  and  Mr.  Fetters,  the  magnate  of 
the  county,  was  always  ready,  the  colonel  had  learned,  to 
accommodate  the  needy  who  could  give  such  security.  He 
had  also  discovered  that  Fetters  was  acquiring  the  greater 
part  of  the  land.  Many  a  farmer  imagined  that  he  owned 
a  farm,  when  he  was,  actually,  merely  a  tenant  of  Fetters. 
Occasionally  Fetters  foreclosed  a  mortgage,  when  there  was 
plainly  no  more  to  be  had  from  it,  and  bought  in  the  land, 
which  he  added  to  his  own  holdings  in  fee.  But  as  a  rule, 
he  found  it  more  profitable  to  let  the  borrower  retain 
possession  and  pay  the  interest  as  nearly  as  he  could; 
the  estate  would  ultimately  be  good  for  the  debt,  if  the 
debtor  did  not  live  too  long — worry  might  be  counted 
upon  to  shorten  his  days — and  the  loan,  with  interest, 
could  be  more  conveniently  collected  at  his  death.  To 
bankrupt  an  estate  was  less  personal  than  to  break  an 
individual;  and  widows,  and  orphans  still  in  their  minority, 
did  not  vote  and  knew  little  about  business  methods. 

To  a  man  of  action,  like  the  colonel,  the  frequent 
contemplation  of  the  unused  water  power,  which  might 
so  easily  be  harnessed  to  the  car  of  progress,  gave 
birth,  in  time,  to  a  wish  to  see  it  thus  utilised,  and 
the  further  wish  to  stir  to  labour  the  idle  inhabitants  of 
the  neighbourhood.  In  all  work  the  shiftless  methods 
of  an  older  generation  still  survived.  No  one  could  do 
anything  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Nearly  all  tasks 
were  done  by  Negroes  who  had  forgotten  how  to 
work,  or  by  white  people  who  had  never  learned.  But 
the    colonel    had    already  seen  the  reviving  effect  of  a 


106  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

little  money,  directed  by  a  little  energy.  And  so  he 
planned  to  build  a  new  and  larger  cotton  mill  where 
the  old  had  stood;  to  shake  up  this  lethargic  community; 
to  put  its  people  to  work,  and  to  teach  them  habits  of 
industry,  efficiency  and  thrift.  This,  he  imagined,  would 
be  pleasant  occupation  for  his  vacation,  as  well  as  a  true 
missionary  enterprise — a  contribution  to  human  progress. 
Such  a  cotton  mill  would  require  only  an  inconsiderable 
portion  of  his  capital,  the  body  of  which  would  be  left 
intact  for  investment  elsewhere;  it  would  not  interfere  at 
all  with  his  freedom  of  movement;  for,  once  built,  equipped 
and  put  in  operation  under  a  competent  manager,  it  would 
no  more  require  his  personal  oversight  than  had  the  New 
England  bagging  mills  which  his  firm  had  conducted  for 
so  many  years. 

From  impulse  to  action  was,  for  the  colonel's  tem- 
perament, an  easy  step,  and  he  had  scarcely  moved 
into  his  house,  before  he  quietly  set  about  investigating 
the  title  to  the  old  mill  site.  It  had  been  forfeited  many 
years  before,  he  found,  to  the  State,  for  non-payment 
of  taxes.  There  having  been  no  demand  for  the 
property  at  any  time  since,  it  had  never  been  sold,  but 
held  as  a  sort  of  lapsed  asset,  subject  to  sale,  but  open 
also,  so  long  as  it  remained  unsold,  to  redemption  upon 
the  payment  of  back  taxes  and  certain  fees.  The  amount 
of  these  was  ascertained;  it  was  considerably  less  than 
the  fair  value  of  the  property,  which  was  therefore  redeem- 
able at  a  profit. 

The  owners,  however,  were  widely  scattered,  for  the 
mill  had  belonged  to  a  joint-stock  company  composed  of  a 
dozen  or  more  members.  Colonel  French  was  pleasantly 
surprised,  upon  looking  up  certain  musty  public  records 
in  the  court  house,  to  find  that  he  himself  was  the  owner, 
by   inheritance,  of  several   shares   of  stock  which  had 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  107 

been  overlooked  in  the  sale  of  his  father's  property. 
Retaining  the  services  of  Judge  Bullard,  the  leading 
member  of  the  Clarendon  bar,  he  set  out  quietly  to 
secure  options  upon  the  other  shares.  This  involved  an 
extensive  correspondence,  which  occupied  several  weeks. 
For  it  was  necessary  first  to  find,  and  then  to  deal  with 
the  scattered  representatives  of  the  former  owners. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

In  engaging  Judge  Bullard,  the  colonel  had  merely 
stated  to  the  lawyer  that  he  thought  of  building  a  cotton- 
mill,  but  had  said  nothing  about  his  broader  plan.  It 
was  very  likely,  he  recognised,  that  the  people  of  Claren- 
don might  not  relish  the  thought  that  they  were  regarded 
as  fit  subjects  for  reform.  He  knew  that  they  were  sen- 
sitive, and  quick  to  resent  criticism.  If  some  of  them 
might  admit,  now  and  then,  among  themselves,  that  the 
town  was  unprogressive,  or  declining,  there  was  always 
some  extraneous  reason  given — the  War,  the  carpet- 
baggers, the  Fifteenth  Amendment,  the  Negroes.  Per- 
haps not  one  of  them  had  ever  quite  realised  the  awful 
handicap  of  excuses  under  which  they  laboured.  Effort 
was  paralysed  where  failure  was  so  easily  explained. 

That  the  condition  of  the  town  might  be  due  to  causes 
within  itself — to  the  general  ignorance,  self-satisfaction 
and  lack  of  enterprise,  had  occurred  to  only  a  favoured 
few;  the  younger  of  these  had  moved  away,  seeking  a 
broader  outlook  elsewhere;  while  those  who  remained 
were  not  yet  strong  enough  nor  brave  enough  to  break 
with  the  past  and  urge  new  standards  of  thought  and 
feeling. 

So  the  colonel  kept  his  larger  purpose  to  himself  until  a 
time  when  greater  openness  would  serve  to  advance  it. 
Thus  Judge  Bullard,  not  being  able  to  read  his  client's 
mind,  assumed  very  naturally  that  the  contemplated  enter- 
prise was  to  be  of  a  purely  commercial  nature,  directed  to 
making  the  most  money  in  the  shortest  time. 

108 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  109 

"Some  day,  Colonel,"  he  said,  with  this  thought  in  mind, 
"you  might  get  a  few  pointers  by  running  over  to  Carthage 
and  looking  through  the  Excelsior  Mills.  They  get  more 
work  there  for  less  money  than  anywhere  else  in  the  South. 
Last  year  they  declared  a  forty  per  cent,  dividend.  I 
know  the  superintendent,  and  will  give  you  a  letter  of 
introduction,  whenever  you  like." 

The  colonel  bore  the  matter  in  mind,  and  one  morning, 
a  day  or  two  after  his  party,  set  out  by  train,  about  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  for  Carthage,  armed  with  a  letter 
from  the  lawyer  to  the  superintendent  of  the  mills. 

The  town  was  only  forty  miles  away;  but  a  cow  had 
been  caught  in  a  trestle  across  a  ditch,  and  some  time  was 
required  for  the  train  crew  to  release  her.  Another 
stop  was  made  in  the  middle  of  a  swamp,  to  put 
off  a  light  mulatto  who  had  presumed  on  his  complexion 
to  ride  in  the  white  people's  car.  He  had  been  success- 
fully spotted,  but  had  impudently  refused  to  go  into 
the  stuffy  little  closet  provided  at  the  end  of  the  car 
for  people  of  his  class.  He  was  therefore  given  an  oppor- 
tunity to  reflect,  during  a  walk  along  the  ties,  upon  his 
true  relation  to  society.  Another  stop  was  made  for  a 
gentleman  who  had  sent  a  Negro  boy  ahead  to  flag  the 
train  and  notify  the  conductor  that  he  would  be  along  in 
fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  with  a  couple  of  lady  passengers. 
A  hot  journal  caused  a  further  delay.  These  interrup- 
tions made  it  eleven  o'clock,  a  three-hours'  run,  before  the 
train  reached  Carthage. 

The  town  was  much  smaller  than  Clarendon.  It  com- 
prised a  public  square  of  several  acres  in  extent,  on  one 
side  of  which  was  the  railroad  station,  and  on  another  the 
court  house.  One  of  the  remaining  sides  was  occupied  by 
a  row  of  shops;  the  fourth  straggled  off  in  various  direc- 
tions.   The  whole  wore  a  neglected  air.     Bales  of  cotton 


110  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

goods  were  piled  on  the  platform,  apparently  just  unloaded 
from  wagons  standing  near.  Several  white  men  and 
Negroes  stood  around  and  stared  listlessly  at  the  train 
and  the  few  who  alighted  from  it. 

Inquiring  its  whereabouts  from  one  of  the  bystanders, 
the  colonel  found  the  nearest  hotel — a  two-story  frame 
structure,  with  a  piazza  across  the  front,  extending  to  the 
street  line.  There  was  a  buggy  standing  in  front,  its  horse 
hitched  to  one  of  the  piazza  posts.  Steps  led  up  from 
the  street,  but  one  might  step  from  the  buggy  to  the  floor 
of  the  piazza,  which  was  without  a  railing. 

The  colonel  mounted  the  steps  and  passed  through  the 
door  into  a  small  room,  which  he  took  for  the  hotel  office, 
since  there  were  chairs  standing  against  the  walls,  and  at 
one  side  a  table  on  which  a  register  lay  open.  The  only 
person  in  the  room,  beside  himself,  was  a  young  man 
seated  near  the  door,  with  his  feet  elevated  to  the  back  of 
another  chair,  reading  a  newspaper  from  which  he  did 
not  look  up. 

The  colonel,  who  wished  to  make  some  inquiries  and 
to  register  for  the  dinner  which  he  might  return  to  take, 
looked  around  him  for  the  clerk,  or  some  one  in  authority, 
but  no  one  was  visible.  While  waiting,  he  walked  over  to 
the  desk  and  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  dog-eared 
register.  He  recognised  only  one  name — that  of  Mr. 
William  Fetters,  who  had  registered  there  only  a  day  or 
two  before. 

No  one  had  yet  appeared.  The  young  man  in  the  chair 
was  evidently  not  connected  with  the  establishment.  His 
expression  was  so  forbidding,  not  to  say  arrogant,  and  his 
absorption  in  the  newspaper  so  complete,  that  the  colonel, 
not  caring  to  address  him,  turned  to  the  right  and  crossed 
a  narrow  hall  to  a  room  beyond,  evidently  a  parlour,  since  it 
was  fitted  up  with  a  faded  ingrain  carpet,  a  centre  table  with 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  111 

a  red  plush  photograph  album,  and  several  enlarged  crayon 
portraits  hung  near  the  ceiling — of  the  kind  made  free  of 
charge  in  Chicago  from  photographs,  provided  the  owner 
orders  a  frame  from  the  company.  No  one  was  in  the 
room,  and  the  colonel  had  turned  to  leave  it,  when  he 
came  face  to  face  with  a  lady  passing  through  the  hall. 

"Are  you  looking  for  some  one?"  she  asked  amiably, 
having  noted  his  air  of  inquiry. 

"Why,  yes,  madam,"  replied  the  colonel,  removing  his 
hat,  "I  was  looking  for  the  proprietor — or  the  clerk." 

"Why,"  she  replied,  smiling,  "that's  the  proprietor  sit- 
ting there  in  the  office.  I'm  going  in  to  speak  to  him,  and 
you  can  get  his  attention  at  the  same  time." 

Their  entrance  did  not  disturb  the  young  man's  repose- 
ful attitude,  which  remained  as  unchanged  as  that  of  a 
graven  image;  nor  did  he  exhibit  any  consciousness  at  their 
presence. 

"I  want  a  clean  towel,  Mr.  Dickson,"  said  the  lady 
sharply. 

The  proprietor  looked  up  with  an  annoyed  expression. 

"Huh  ?"  he  demanded,  in  a  tone  of  resentment  mingled 
with  surprise. 

"A  clean  towel,  if  you  please." 

The  proprietor  said  nothing  more  to  the  lady,  nor 
deigned  to  notice  the  colonel  at  all,  but  lifted  his  legs 
down  from  the  back  of  the  chair,  rose  with  a  sigh,  left  the 
room  and  returned  in  a  few  minutes  with  a  towel,  which 
he  handed  ungraciously  to  the  lady.  Then,  still  paying 
no  attention  to  the  colonel,  he  resumed  his  former 
attitude,  and  returned  to  the  perusal  of  his  newspaper 
— certainly  the  most  unconcerned  of  hotel  keepers, 
thought  the  colonel,  as  a  vision  of  spacious  lobbies, 
liveried  porters,  and  obsequious  clerks  rose  before 
his  vision.     He  made  no  audible  comment,  however,  but 


112  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

merely  stared  at  the  young  man  curiously,  left  the  hotel, 
and  inquired  of  a  passing  Negro  the  whereabouts  of  the 
livery  stable.  A  few  minutes  later  he  found  the  place 
without  difficulty,  and  hired  a  horse  and  buggy. 

While  the  stable  boy  was  putting  the  harness  on  the 
horse,  the  colonel  related  to  the  liveryman,  whose  manner 
was  energetic  and  business-like,  and  who  possessed  an 
open  countenance  and  a  sympathetic  eye,  his  experience 
at  the  hotel. 

"Oh,  yes,"  was  the  reply,  "that's  Lee  Dickson  all  over. 
That  hotel  used  to  be  kep'  by  his  mother.  She  was  a 
widow  woman,  an'  ever  since  she  died,  a  couple  of  months 
ago,  Lee's  been  playin'  the  big  man,  spendin'  the  old  lady's 
money,  and  enjoyin'  himself.  Did  you  see  that  hoss'n'- 
buggy  hitched  in  front  of  the  ho-tel  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  that's  Lee's  buggy.  He  hires  it  from  us.  We 
send  it  up  every  mornin'  at  nine  o'clock,  when  Lee  gits 
up.  When  he's  had  his  breakfas'  he  comes  out  an'  gits 
in  the  buggy,  an'  drives  to  the  barber-shop  nex'  door,  gits 
out,  goes  in  an'  gits  shaved,  comes  out,  climbs  in  the  buggy, 
an'  drives  back  to  the  ho-tel.  Then  he  talks  to  the  cook, 
comes  out  an'  gits  in  the  buggy,  an'  drives  half-way  'long 
that  side  of  the  square,  about  two  hund'ed  feet,  to  the 
grocery  sto',  and  orders  half  a  pound  of  coffee  or  a  pound 
of  lard,  or  whatever  the  ho-tel  needs  for  the  day,  then 
comes  out,  climbs  in  the  buggy  and  drives  back.  When 
the  mail  comes  in,  if  he's  expectin'  any  mail,  he  drives 
'cross  the  square  to  the  post-office,  an'  then  drives  back 
to  the  ho-tel.  There's  other  lazy  men  roun'  here,  but  Lee 
Dickson  takes  the  cake.  However,  it's  money  in  our 
pocket,  as  long  as  it  keeps  up." 

"I  shouldn't  think  it  would  keep  up  long,"  returned  the 
colonel.     "How  can  such  a  hotel  prosper?" 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  113 

"It  don't!"  replied  the  liveryman,  "but  it's  the  best  in 
town." 

"I  don't  see  how  there  could  be  a  worse,"  said  the 
colonel. 

"There  couldn't — it's  reached  bed  rock." 

The  buggy  was  ready  by  this  time,  and  the  colonel  set 
out,  with  a  black  driver,  to  find  the  Excelsior  Cotton  Mills. 
They  proved  to  be  situated  in  a  desolate  sandhill  region 
several  miles  out  of  town.  The  day  was  hot;  the  weather 
had  been  dry,  and  the  road  was  deep  with  a  yielding  white 
sand  into  which  the  buggy  tires  sank.  The  horse  soon 
panted  with  the  heat  and  the  exertion,  and  the  colonel, 
dressed  in  brown  linen,  took  off  his  hat  and  mopped  his 
brow  with  his  handkerchief.  The  driver,  a  taciturn 
Negro — most  of  the  loquacious,  fun-loving  Negroes  of 
the  colonel's  youth  seemed  to  have  disappeared — flicked 
a  horsefly  now  and  then,  with  his  whip,  from  the  horse's 
sweating  back. 

The  first  sign  of  the  mill  was  a  straggling  group  of 
small  frame  houses,  built  of  unpainted  pine  lumber.  The 
barren  soil,  which  would  not  have  supported  a  firm  lawn, 
was  dotted  with  scraggy  bunches  of  wiregrass.  In  the 
open  doorways,  through  which  the  flies  swarmed  in  and 
out,  grown  men,  some  old,  some  still  in  the  prime  of  life, 
were  lounging,  pipe  in  mouth,  while  old  women  pottered 
about  the  yards,  or  pushed  back  their  sunbonnets  to  stare 
vacantly  at  the  advancing  buggy.  Dirty  babies  were 
tumbling  about  the  cabins.  There  was  a  lean  and  listless 
yellow  dog  or  two  for  every  baby;  and  several  slatternly 
black  women  were  washing  clothes  on  the  shady  sides  of 
the  houses.  A  general  air  of  shiftlessness  and  squalor 
pervaded  the  settlement.  There  was  no  sign  of  joyous 
childhood  or  of  happy  youth. 

A  turn  in  the  road  brought  them  to  the  mill,  the  distant 


114  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

hum  of  which  had  already  been  audible.  It  was  a  two- 
story  brick  structure  with  many  windows,  altogether  of 
the  cheapest  construction,  but  situated  on  the  bank  of  a 
stream  and  backed  by  a  noble  water  power. 

They  drew  up  before  an  open  door  at  one  corner  of  the 
building.  The  colonel  alighted,  entered,  and  presented 
his  letter  of  introduction.  The  superintendent  glanced  at 
him  keenly,  but,  after  reading  the  letter,  greeted  him  with 
a  show  of  cordiality,  and  called  a  young  man  to  conduct 
the  visitor  through  the  mill. 

The  guide  seemed  in  somewhat  of  a  hurry,  and  reticent 
of  speech;  nor  was  the  noise  of  the  machinery  conducive 
to  conversation.  Some  of  the  colonel's  questions  seemed 
unheard,  and  others  were  imperfectly  answered.  Yet 
the  conditions  disclosed  by  even  such  an  inspection  were, 
to  the  colonel,  a  revelation.  Through  air  thick  with  flying 
particles  of  cotton,  pale,  anaemic  young  women  glanced 
at  him  curiously,  with  lack-luster  eyes,  or  eyes  in  which 
the  gleam  was  not  that  of  health,  or  hope,  or  holiness. 
Wizened  children,  who  had  never  known  the  joys  of 
childhood,  worked  side  by  side  at  long  rows  of  spools 
to  which  they  must  give  unremitting  attention.  Most 
of  the  women  were  using  snuff,  the  odour  of  which 
was  mingled  with  the  flying  particles  of  cotton,  while 
the  floor  was  thickly  covered  with  unsightly  brown 
splotches. 

When  they  had  completed  the  tour  of  the  mills  and 
returned  to  the  office,  the  colonel  asked  some  questions  of 
the  manager  about  the  equipment,  the  output,  and  the 
market,  which  were  very  promptly  and  courteously  an- 
swered. To  those  concerning  hours  and  wages  the  replies 
were  less  definite,  and  the  colonel  went  away  impressed 
as  much  by  what  he  had  not  learned  as  by  what  he  had 
seen. 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  115 

While  settling  his  bill  at  the  livery  stable,  he  made 
further  inquiries. 

"Lord,  yes,"  said  the  liveryman  in  answer  to  one  of 
them,  "  I  can  tell  you  all  you  want  to  know  about  that  mill. 
Talk  about  nigger  slavery — the  niggers  never  were  worked 
like  white  women  and  children  are  in  them  mills.  They 
work  'em  from  twelve  to  sixteen  hours  a  day  for  from 
fifteen  to  fifty  cents.  Them  triflin'  old  pinelanders  out  there 
jus'  lay  aroun'  and  raise  children  for  the  mills,  and  then 
set  down  and  chaw  tobacco  an'  live  on  their  children's 
wages.  It's  a  sin  an'  a  shame,  an'  there  ought  to  be  a  law 
ag'inst  it." 

The  conversation  brought  out  the  further  fact  that 
vice  was  rampant  among  the  millhands. 

"An'  it  ain't  surprisin',"  said  the  liveryman,  with 
indignation  tempered  by  the  easy  philosophy  of  hot 
climates.  "Shut  up  in  jail  all  day,  an'  half  the  night, 
never  breathin'  the  pyo'  air,  or  baskin'  in  God's  bright 
sunshine;  with  no  books  to  read  an'  no  chance  to  learn, 
who  can  blame  the  po'r  things  if  they  have  a  little  joy 
in  the  only  way  they  know  ?" 

"Who  owns  the  mill?"  asked  the  colonel. 

"It  belongs  to  a  company,"  was  the  reply,  "but  Old 
Bill  Fetters  owns  a  majority  of  the  stock — durn,  him!" 

The  colonel  felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure — he  had  met  a  man 
after  his  own  heart. 

"You  are  not  one  of  Fetters 's  admirers  then  ?"  he  asked. 

"Not  by  a  durn  sight,"  returned  the  liveryman  prompt- 
ly. When  I  look  at  them  white  gals,  that  ought  to  be 
rosy-cheeked  an'  bright-eyed  an'  plump  an'  hearty  an' 
happy,  an'  them  po'  little  child'en  that  never  get  a  chance 
to  go  fishin'  or  swimmin'  or  to  learn  anything,  I  allow  I 
wouldn'  mind  if  the  durned  old  mill  would  catch  fire  an' 
burn  down.    They  work  children  there  from  six,years  old 


116  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

up,  an'  half  of  'em  die  of  consumption  before  they're 
grown.  It's  a  durned  outrage,  an'  if  I  ever  go  to  the 
Legislatur',  for  which  I  mean  to  run,  I'll  try  to  have  it 
stopped." 

"I  hope  you  will  be  elected,"  said  the  colonel.  "What 
time  does  the  train  go  back  to  Clarendon?" 

"Four  o'clock,  if  she's  on  time — but  it  may  be  five." 

"Do  you  suppose  I  can  get  dinner  at  the  hotel?" 

"Oh,  yes!  I  sent  word  up  that  I  'lowed  you  might  be 
back,  so  they'll  be  expectin'  you." 

The  proprietor  was  at  the  desk  when  the  colonel  went 
in.  He  wrote  his  name  on  the  book,  and  was  served  with 
an  execrable  dinner.  He  paid  his  bill  of  half  a  dollar  to 
the  taciturn  proprietor,  and  sat  down  on  the  shady  porch 
to  smoke  a  cigar.  The  proprietor,  having  put  the  money 
in  his  pocket,  came  out  and  stepped  into  his  buggy,  which 
was  still  standing  alongside  the  piazza.  The  colonel 
watched  him  drive  a  stone's  throw  to  a  barroom  down 
the  street,  get  down,  go  in,  come  out  a  few  minutes  later, 
wiping  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  climb  into  the 
buggy,  drive  back,  step  out  and  re-enter  the  hotel. 

It  was  yet  an  hour  to  train  time,  and  the  colonel,  to  sat- 
isfy an  impulse  of  curiosity,  strolled  over  to  the  court 
house,  which  could  be  seen  across  the  square,  through  the 
trees.  Requesting  leave  of  the  Clerk  in  the  county 
recorder's  office  to  look  at  the  records  of  mortgages,  he 
turned  the  leaves  over  and  found  that  a  large  proportion 
of  the  mortgages  recently  recorded — among  them  one 
on  the  hotel  property — had  been  given  to  Fetters. 

The  whistle  of  the  train  was  heard  in  the  distance  as 
the  colonel  recrossed  the  square.  Glancing  toward  the 
hotel,  he  saw  the  landlord  come  out,  drive  across  the 
square  to  the  station,  and  sit  there  until  the  passengers 
had  alighted.    To  a  drummer  with  a  sample  case,  he 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  117 

pointed  carelessly  across  the  square  to  the  hotel,  but 
made  no  movement  to  take  the  baggage;  and  as  the 
train  moved  off,  the  colonel,  looking  back,  saw  him  driving 
back  to  the  hotel. 

Fetters  had  begun  to  worry  the  colonel.  He  had  never 
seen  the  man,  and  yet  his  influence  was  everywhere.  He 
seemed  to  brood  over  the  country  round  about  like  a  great 
vampire  bat,  sucking  the  life-blood  of  the  people.  His  touch 
meant  blight.  As  soon  as  a  Fetters  mortgage  rested  on  a 
place,  the  property  began  to  run  down ;  for  why  should  the 
nominal  owner  keep  up  a  place  which  was  destined  in  the 
end  to  go  to  Fetters?  The  colonel  had  heard  grewsome 
tales  of  Fetters 's  convict  labour  plantation;  he  had  seen 
the  operation  of  Fetters's  cotton-mill,  where  white  human- 
ity, in  its  fairest  and  tenderest  form,  was  stunted  and 
blighted  and  destroyed;  and  he  had  not  forgotten  the 
scene  in  the  justice's  office. 

The  fighting  blood  of  the  old  Frenches  was  stirred.  The 
colonel's  means  were  abundant;  he  did  not  lack  the 
sinews  of  war.  Clarendon  offered  a  field  for  profitable 
investment.  He  would  like  to  do  something  for  humanity, 
something  to  offset  Fetters  and  his  kind,  who  were  preying 
upon  the  weaknesses  of  the  people,  enslaving  white  and 
black  alike.  In  a  great  city,  what  he  could  give  away 
would  have  been  but  a  slender  stream,  scarcely  felt  in  the 
rivers  of  charity  poured  into  the  ocean  of  want;  and  even 
his  considerable  wealth  would  have  made  him  only  a 
small  stockholder  in  some  great  aggregation  of  capital. 
In  this  backward  old  town,  away  from  the  great  centres  of 
commerce,  and  scarcely  feeling  their  distant  pulsebeat, 
except  when  some  daring  speculator  tried  for  a  brief 
period  to  corner  the  cotton  market,  he  could  mark  with 
his  own  eyes  the  good  he  might  accomplish.  It  required 
no  great  stretch  of  imagination  to  see  the  town,  a  few 


118  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

years  hence,  a  busy  hive  of  industry,  where  no  man,  and 
no  woman  obliged  to  work,  need  be  without  employment 
at  fair  wages;  where  the  trinity  of  peace,  prosperity  and 
progress  would  reign  supreme;  where  men  like  Fetters 
and  methods  like  his  would  no  longer  be  tolerated.  The 
forces  of  enlightenment,  set  in  motion  by  his  aid,  and 
supported  by  just  laws,  should  engage  the  retrogade 
forces  represented  by  Fetters.  Communities,  like  men, 
must  either  grow  or  decay,  advance  or  decline;  they  could 
not  stand  still.  Clarendon  was  decaying.  Fetters  was 
the  parasite  which,  by  sending  out  its  roots  toward  rich 
and  poor  alike,  struck  at  both  extremes  of  society,  and 
was  choking  the  life  of  the  town  like  a  rank  and  deadly 
vine. 

The  colonel  could,  if  need  be,  spare  the  year  or  two  of 
continuous  residence  needed  to  rescue  Clarendon  from  the 
grasp  of  Fetters.  The  climate  agreed  with  Phil,  who  was 
growing  like  a  weed;  and  the  colonel  could  easily  defer 
for  a  little  while  his  scheme  of  travel,  and  the  further  dis- 
position of  his  future. 

So,  when  he  reached  home  that  night,  he  wrote  an 
answer  to  a  long  and  gossipy  letter  received  from  Kirby 
about  that  time,  in  which  the  latter  gave  a  detailed  account 
of  what  was  going  on  in  the  colonel's  favourite  club  and 
among  their  mutual  friends,  and  reported  progress  in  the 
search  for  some  venture  worthy  of  their  mettle.  The 
colonel  replied  that  Phil  and  he  were  well,  that  he  was 
interesting  himself  in  a  local  enterprise  which  would  cer- 
tainly occupy  him  for  some  months,  and  that  he  would 
not  visit  New  York  during  the  summer,  unless  it  were  to 
drop  in  for  a  day  or  two  on  business  and  return  imme- 
diately. 

A  letter  from  Mrs.  Jerviss,  received  about  the  same  time, 
was  less  easily  disposed  of.     She  had  learned,  from  Kirby, 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  119 

of  the  chivalrous  manner  in  which  Mr.  French  had  pro- 
tected her  interests  and  spared  her  feelings  in  the  fight  with 
Consolidated  Bagging.  She  had  not  been  able,  she  said, 
to  thank  him  adequately  before  he  went  away,  because  she 
had  not  known  how  much  she  owed  him;  nor  could  she 
fittingly  express  herself  on  paper.  She  could  only  renew 
her  invitation  to  him  to  join  her  house  party  at  Newport 
in  July.  The  guests  would  be  friends  of  his — she  would 
be  glad  to  invite  any  others  that  he  might  suggest.  She 
would  then  have  the  opportunity  to  thank  him  in  person. 

The  colonel  was  not  unmoved  by  this  frank  and  grateful 
letter,  and  he  knew  perfectly  well  what  reward  he  might 
claim  from  her  gratitude.  Had  the  letter  come  a  few 
weeks  sooner,  it  might  have  had  a  different  answer.  But, 
now,  after  the  first  pang  of  regret,  his  only  problem  was 
how  to  refuse  gracefully  her  offered  hospitality.  He  was 
sorry,  he  replied,  not  to  be  able  to  join  her  house  party 
that  summer,  but  during  the  greater  part  of  it  he  would  be 
detained  in  the  South  by  certain  matters  into  which  he  had 
been  insensibly  drawn.  As  for  her  thanks,  she  owed  him 
none;  he  had  only  done  his  duty,  and  had  already  been 
thanked  too  much. 

So  thoroughly  had  Colonel  French  entered  into  the  spirit 
of  his  yet  undefined  contest  with  Fetters,  that  his  life  in 
New  York,  save  when  these  friendly  communications 
recalled  it,  seemed  far  away,  and  of  slight  retrospective 
interest.  Every  one  knows  of  the  "blind  spot"  in  the 
field  of  vision.  New  York  was  for  the  time  being  the 
colonel's  blind  spot.  That  it  might  reassert  its  influence 
was  always  possible,  but  for  the  present  New  York  was 
of  no  more  interest  to  him  than  Canton  or  Bogota.  Hav- 
ing revelled  for  a  few  pleasant  weeks  in  memories  of  a 
remoter  past,  the  reaction  had  projected  his  thoughts  for- 
ward into  the  future.     His  life  in  New  York,  and  in  the 


120  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

Clarendon  of  the  present — these  were  mere  transitory 
embodiments ;  he  lived  in  the  Clarendon  yet  to  be,  a  Clar- 
endon rescued  from  Fetters,  purified,  rehabilitated;  and  no 
compassionate  angel  warned  him  how  tenacious  of  life  that 
which  Fetters  stood  for  might  be — that  survival  of  the 
spirit  of  slavery,  under  which  the  land  still  groaned  and 
travailed — the  growth  of  generations,  which  it  would  take 
more  than  one  generation  to  destroy. 

In  describing  to  Judge  Bullard  his  visit  to  the  cotton 
mill,  the  colonel  was  not  sparing  of  his  indignation. 

"The  men,"  he  declared  with  emphasis,  "who  are 
responsible  for  that  sort  of  thing,  are  enemies  of  mankind. 
I've  been  in  business  for  twenty  years,  but  I  have  never 
sought  to  make  money  by  trading  on  the  souls  and  bodies 
of  women  and  children.  I  saw  the  little  darkies  running 
about  the  streets  down  there  at  Carthage;  they  were  poor 
and  ragged  and  dirty,  but  they  were  out  in  the  air  and  the 
sunshine;  they  have  a  chance  to  get  their  growth;  to  go  to 
school  and  learn  something.  The  white  children  are 
worked  worse  than  slaves,  and  are  growing  up  dulled  and 
stunted,  physically  and  mentally.  Our  folks  down  here 
are  mighty  short-sighted,  judge.  We'll  wake  them  up. 
We'll  build  a  model  cotton  mill,  and  run  it  with  decent 
hours  and  decent  wages,  and  treat  the  operatives  like 
human  beings  with  bodies  to  nourish,  minds  to  develop, 
and  souls  to  save.  Fetters  and  his  crowd  will  have  to 
come  up  to  our  standard,  or  else  we'll  take  their  hands 
away." 

Judge  Bullard  had  looked  surprised  when  the  colonel 
began  his  denunciation;  and  though  he  said  little,  his 
expression,  when  the  colonel  had  finished,  was  very 
thoughtful  and  not  altogether  happy. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

It  was  the  week  after  the  colonel's  house  warming. 

Graciella  was  not  happy.  She  was  sitting,  erect  and 
graceful,  as  she  always  sat,  on  the  top  step  of  the  piazza. 
Ben  Dudley  occupied  the  other  end  of  the  step.  His 
model  stood  neglected  beside  him,  and  he  was  looking 
straight  at  Graciella,  whose  eyes,  avoiding  his,  were  bent 
upon  a  copy  of  "Jane  Eyre,"  held  open  in  her  hand. 
There  was  an  unwonted  silence  between  them,  which 
Ben  was  the  first  to  break. 

"Will  you  go  for  a  walk  with  me?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  sorry,  Ben,"  she  replied,  "but  I  have  an  engage- 
ment to  go  driving  with  Colonel  French." 

Ben's  dark  cheek  grew  darker,  and  he  damned  Colonel 
French  softly  beneath  his  breath.  He  could  not  ask 
Graciella  to  drive,  for  their  old  buggy  was  not  fit  to  be 
seen,  and  he  had  no  money  to  hire  a  better  one.  The  only 
reason  why  he  ever  had  wanted  money  was  because  of  her. 
If  she  must  have  money,  or  the  things  that  money 
alone  would  buy,  he  must  get  money,  or  lose  her.  As 
long  as  he  had  no  rival  there  was  hope.  But  could 
he  expect  to  hold  his  own  against  a  millionaire,  who 
had  the  garments  and  the  manners  of  the  great  out- 
side world? 

"I  suppose  the  colonel's  here  every  night,  as  well  as 
every  day,"  he  said,  "and  that  you  talk  to  him  all  the 
time." 

"No,  Ben,  he  isn't  here  every  night,  nor  every  day. 
His  old  darky,  Peter,  brings  Phil  over  every  day;  but  when 

121 


122  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

the  colonel  comes  he  talks  to  grandmother  and  Aunt  Laura, 
as  well  as  to  me." 

Graciella  had  risen  from  the  step,  and  was  now  enthroned 
in  a  splint-bottomed  armchair,  an  attitude  more  in  keep- 
ing with  the  air  of  dignity  which  she  felt  constrained  to 
assume  as  a  cloak  for  an  uneasy  conscience. 

Graciella  was  not  happy.  She  had  reached  the  parting 
of  the  ways,  and  realised  that  she  must  choose  between 
them.  And  yet  she  hesitated.  Every  consideration  of 
prudence  dictated  that  she  choose  Colonel  French  rather 
than  Ben.  The  colonel  was  rich  and  could  gratify  all  her 
ambitions.  There  could  be  no  reasonable  doubt  that  he 
was  fond  of  her;  and  she  had  heard  it  said,  by  those  more 
experienced  than  she  and  therefore  better  qualified  to 
judge,  that  he  was  infatuated  with  her.  Certainly  he  had 
shown  her  a  great  deal  of  attention.  He  had  taken  her 
driving;  he  had  lent  her  books  and  music;  he  had  brought 
or  sent  the  New  York  paper  every  day  for  her  to  read. 

He  had  been  kind  to  her  Aunt  Laura,  too,  probably  for 
her  niece's  sake;  for  the  colonel  was  kind  by  nature,  and 
wished  to  make  everyone  about  him  happy.  It  was 
fortunate  that  her  Aunt  Laura  was  fond  of  Philip.  If 
she  should  decide  to  marry  the  colonel,  she  would  have 
her  Aunt  Laura  come  and  make  her  home  with  them: 
she  could  give  Philip  the  attention  with  which  his  step- 
mother's social  duties  might  interfere.  It  was  hardly 
likely  that  her  aunt  entertained  any  hope  of  marriage; 
indeed,  Miss  Laura  had  long  since  professed  herself  re- 
signed to  old  maidenhood. 

But  in  spite  of  these  rosy  dreams,  Graciella  was  not 
happy.  To  marry  the  colonel  she  must  give  up  Ben ;  and 
Ben,  discarded,  loomed  up  larger  than  Ben,  accepted. 
She  liked  Ben;  she  was  accustomed  to  Ben.  Ben  was 
young,  and  youth  attracted  youth.     Other  things  being 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  123 

equal,  she  would  have  preferred  him  to  the  colonel.  But 
Ben  was  poor;  he  had  nothing  and  his  prospects  for 
the  future  were  not  alluring.  He  would  inherit  little, 
and  that  little  not  until  his  uncle's  death.  He  had  no 
profession.  He  was  not  even  a  good  farmer,  and  trifled 
away,  with  his  useless  models  and  mechanical  toys,  the 
time  he  might  have  spent  in  making  his  uncle's  plantation 
productive.  Graciella  did  not  know  that  Fetters  had  a 
mortgage  on  the  plantation,  or  Ben's  prospects  would 
have  seemed  even  more  hopeless. 

She  felt  sorry  not  only  for  herself,  but  for  Ben  as  well — 
sorry  that  he  should  lose  her — for  she  knew  that  he  loved 
her  sincerely.  But  her  first  duty  was  to  herself.  Con- 
scious that  she  possessed  talents,  social  and  otherwise, 
it  was  not  her  view  of  creative  wisdom  that  it  should 
implant  in  the  mind  tastes  and  in  the  heart  longings  des- 
tined never  to  be  realised.  She  must  discourage  Ben — 
gently  and  gradually,  for  of  course  he  would  suffer;  and 
humanity,  as  well  as  friendship,  counselled  kindness.  A 
gradual  breaking  off,  too,  would  be  less  harrowing  to  her 
own  feelings. 

"I  suppose  you  admire  Colonel  French  immensely," 
said  Ben,  with  assumed  impartiality. 

"  Oh,  I  like  him  reasonably  well,"  she  said  with  an  equal 
lack  of  candour.  "His  conversation  is  improving.  He 
has  lived  in  the  metropolis,  and  has  seen  so  much  of  the 
world  that  he  can  scarcely  speak  without  saying  something 
interesting.  It's  a  liberal  education  to  converse  with 
people  who  have  had  opportunities.  It  helps  to  prepare 
my  mind  for  life  at  the  North." 

"You  set  a  great  deal  of  store  by  the  North,  Graciella. 
Anybody  would  allow,  to  listen  to  you,  that  you  didn't  love 
your  own  country." 

"I  love  the  South,  Ben,  as  I  loved  Aunt  Lou,  my  old 


124  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

black  mammy.  I've  laid  in  her  arms  many  a  day,  and  I 
'most  cried  my  eyes  out  when  she  died.  But  that  didn't 
mean  that  I  never  wanted  to  see  any  one  else.  Nor  am  I 
going  to  live  in  the  South  a  minute  longer  than  I  can  help, 
because  its'  too  slow.  And  New  York  isn't  all — I  want  to 
travel  and  see  the  world.     The  South  is  away  behind." 

She  had  said  much  the  same  thing  weeks  before;  but 
then  it  had  been  spontaneous.  Now  she  was  purposely 
trying  to  make  Ben  see  how  unreasonable  was  his  hope. 

Ben  stood,  as  he  obscurely  felt,  upon  delicate  ground. 
Graciella  had  not  been  the  only  person  to  overhear  remarks 
about  the  probability  of  the  colonel's  seeking  a  wife  in 
Clarendon,  and  jealousy  had  sharpened  Ben's  perceptions 
while  it  increased  his  fears.  He  had  little  to  offer  Graciella. 
He  was  not  well  educated ;  he  had  nothing  to  recommend 
him  but  his  youth  and  his  love  for  her.  He  could  not 
take  her  to  Europe,  or  even  to  New  York — at  least  not  yet. 

"And  at  home,"  Graciella  went  on  seriously,  "at  home 
I  should  want  several  houses — a  town  house,  a  country 
place,  a  seaside  cottage.  When  we  were  tired  of  one 
we  could  go  to  another,  or  live  in  hotels — in  the  winter  in 
Florida,  at  Atlantic  City  in  the  spring,  at  Newport  in  the 
summer.     They  say  Long  Branch  has  gone  out  entirely." 

Ben  had  a  vague  idea  that  Long  Branch  was  by  the  sea- 
side, and  exposed  to  storms.  "Gone  out  to  sea?"  he 
asked  absently.  He  was  sick  for  love  of  her,  and  she  was 
dreaming  of  watering  places. 

"  No,  Ben,"  said  Graciella,  compassionately.  Poor  Ben 
had  so  little  opportunity  for  schooling!  He  was  not  to 
blame  for  his  want  of  knowledge;  but  could  she  throw 
herself  away  upon  an  ignoramus?  "It's  still  there,  but 
has  gone  out  of  fashion." 

"  Oh,  excuse  me !  I'm  not  posted  on  these  fashionable 
things." 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  125 

Ben  relapsed  into  gloom.  The  model  remained  un- 
touched. He  could  not  give  Graciella  a  house;  he  would 
not  have  a  house* until  his  uncle  died.  Graciella  had 
never  seemed  so  beautiful  as  to-day,  as  she  sat,  dressed  in 
the  cool  white  gown  which  Miss  Laura's  slender  ringers  had 
done  up,  and  with  her  hair  dressed  after  the  daintiest  and 
latest  fashion  chronicled  in  the  Ladies'  Fireside  Journal. 
No  wonder,  he  thought,  that  a  jaded  old  man  of  the  world 
like  Colonel  French  should  delight  in  her  fresh  young 
beauty! 

But  he  would  not  give  her  up  without  a  struggle.  She 
had  loved  him;  she  must  love  him  still;  and  she  would  yet 
be  his,  if  he  could  keep  her  true  to  him  or  free  from  any 
promise  to  another,  until  her  deeper  feelings  could  resume 
their  sway.  It  could  not  be  possible,  after  all  that  had 
passed  between  them,  that  she  meant  to  throw  him  over, 
nor  was  he  a  man  that  she  could  afford  to  treat  in  such 
a  fashion.  There  was  more  in  him  than  Graciella  imag- 
ined; he  was  conscious  of  latent  power  of  some  kind, 
though  he  knew  not  what,  and  something  would  surely 
happen,  sometime,  somehow,  to  improve  his  fortunes. 
And  there  was  always  the  hope,  the  possibility  of  finding 
the  lost  money. 

He  had  brought  his  great-uncle  Ralph's  letter  with 
him,  as  he  had  promised  Graciella.  When  she  read  it, 
she  would  see  the  reasonableness  of  his  hope,  and  might  be 
willing  to  wait,  at  least  a  little  while.  Any  delay  would 
be  a  point  gained.  He  shuddered  to  think  that  he  might 
lose  her,  and  then,  the  day  after  the  irrevocable  vows  had 
been  taken,  the  treasure  might  come  to  light,  and  all 
their  life  be  spent  in  vain  regrets.  Graciella  was  skeptical 
about  the  lost  money.  Even  Mrs.  Treadwell,  whose 
faith  had  been  firm  for  years,  had  ceased  to  encourage  his 
hope;  while  Miss  Laura,  who  at  one  time  had  smiled  at 


126  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

any  mention  of  the  matter,  now  looked  grave  if  by  any 
chance  he  let  slip  a  word  in  reference  to  it.  But  he  had 
in  his  pocket  the  outward  and  visible  sign  of  his  inward 
belief,  and  he  would  try  its  effect  on  Graciella.  He  would 
risk  ridicule  or  anything  else  for  her  sake. 

"Graciella,"  he  said,  "I  have  brought  my  uncle  Mal- 
colm's letter  along,  to  convince  you  that  uncle  is  not  as 
crazy  as  he  seems,  and  that  there's  some  foundation  for  the 
hope  that  I  may  yet  be  able  to  give  you  all  you  want. 
I  don't  want  to  relinquish  the  hope,  and  I  want  you  to 
share  it  with  me." 

He  produced  an  envelope,  once  white,  now  yellow 
with  time,  on  which  was  endorsed  in  ink  once  black  but 
faded  to  a  pale  brown,  and  hardly  legible,  the  name  of 
"Malcolm  Dudley,  Esq.,  Mink  Run,"  and  in  the  lower 
left-hand  corner,  "By  hand  of  Viney." 

The  sheet  which  Ben  drew  from  this  wrapper  was 
worn  at  the  folds,  and  required  careful  handling. 
Graciella,  moved  by  curiosity,  had  come  down  from 
her  throne  to  a  seat  beside  Ben  upon  the  porch.  She 
had  never  had  any  faith  in  the  mythical  gold  of  old  Ralph 
Dudley.  The  people  of  an  earlier  generation — her  Aunt 
Laura  perhaps — may  once  have  believed  in  it,  but  they 
had  long.since  ceased  to  do  more  than  smile  pityingly  and 
shake  their  heads  at  the  mention  of  old  Malcolm's  de- 
lusion. But  there  was  in  it  the  element  of  romance. 
Strange  things  had  happened,  and  why  might  they  not 
happen  again?  And  if  they  should  happen,  why  not  to 
Ben,  dear  old,  shiftless  Ben !  She  moved  a  porch  pillow 
close  beside  him,  and,  as  they  bent  their  heads  over  the 
paper  her  hair  mingled  with  his,  and  soon  her  hand 
rested,  unconsciously,  upon  his  shoulder. 

"It  was  a  voice  from  the  grave,"  said  Ben,  "for  my 
great-uncle  Ralph   was   dead  when   the   letter   reached 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  127 

Uncle  Malcolm.     I'll  read  it  aloud — the  writing  is  some- 
times hard  to  make  out,  and  I  know  it  by  heart : 

My  Dear  Malcolm:  I  have  in  my  hands  fifty 
thousand  dollars  of  government  money,  in  gold,  which 
I  am  leaving  here  at  the  house  for  a  few  days.  Since 
you  are  not  at  home,  and  I  cannot  wait,  I  have  con- 
fided in  our  girl  Viney,  whom  I  can  trust.  She 
will  tell  you,  when  she  gives  you  this,  where  I  have 
put  the  money — I  do  not  write  it,  lest  the  letter 
should  fall  into  the  wrong  hands;  there  are  many 
to  whom  it  would  be  a  great  temptation.  I  shall 
return  in  a  few  days,  and  relieve  you  of  the  responsi- 
bility. Should  anything  happen  to  me,  write  to  the 
Secretary  of  State  at  Richmond  for  instructions 
what  to  do  with  the  money.  In  great  haste, 
Your  affectionate  uncle, 

Ralph  Dudley. 

Graciella  was  momentarily  impressed  by  the  letter;  of 
its  reality  there  could  be  no  doubt — it  was  there  in  black 
and  white,  or  rather  brown  and  yellow. 

"It  sounds  like  a  letter  in  a  novel,"  she  said,  thought- 
fully.    "There  must  have  been  something." 

"There  must  be  something,  Graciella,  for  Uncle  Ralph 
was  killed  the  next  day,  and  never  came  back  for  the 
money.  But  Uncle  Malcolm,  because  he  don't  know 
where  to  look,  can't  find  it;  and  old  Aunt  Viney,  because 
she  can't  talk,  can't  tell  him  where  it  is." 

"Why  has  she  never  shown  him?"  asked  Graciella. 

"There  is  some  mystery,"  he  said,  "which  she  seems 
unable  to  explain  without  speech.  And  then,  she  is 
queer — as  queer,  in  her  own  way,  as  uncle  is  in  his. 
Now,  if  you'd  only  marry  me,  Graciella,  and  go  out  there 


128  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

to  live,  with  your  uncommonly  fine  mind,  you'd  find  it — 
you  couldn't  help  but  find  it.  It  would  just  come  at 
your  call,  like  my  dog  when  I  whistle  to  him." 

Graciella  was  touched  by  the  compliment,  or  by  the 
serious  feeling  which  underlay  it.  And  that  was  very 
funny,  about  calling  the  money  and  having  it  come!  She 
had  often  heard  of  people  whistling  for  their  money,  but 
had  never  heard  that  it  came — that  was  Ben's  idea.  There 
really  was  a  good  deal  in  Ben,  and  perhaps,  after  all 

But  at  that  moment  there  was  a  sound  of  wheels,  and 
whatever  Graciella's  thought  may  have  been,  it  was  not 
completed.  As  Colonel  French  lifted  the  latch  of  the 
garden  gate  and  came  up  the  walk  toward  them,  any 
glamour  of  the  past,  any  rosy  hope  of  the  future,  vanished 
in  the  solid  brilliancy  of  the  present  moment.  Old  Ralph 
was  dead,  old  Malcolm  nearly  so;  the  money  had  never 
been  found,  would  never  come  to  light.  There  on  the 
doorstep  was  a  young  man  shabbily  attired,  without  means 
or  prospects.  There  at  the  gate  was  a  fine  horse,  in  a 
handsome  trap,  and  coming  up  the  walk  an  agreeable, 
well-dressed  gentleman  of  wealth  and  position.  No  dead 
romance  could,  in  the  heart  of  a  girl  of  seventeen,  hold 
its  own  against  so  vital  and  brilliant  a  reality. 

"Thank  you,  Ben,"  she  said,  adjusting  a  stray  lock  of 
hair  which  had  escaped,  from  her  radiant  crop,  "  I  am  not 
clever  enough  for  that.  It  is  a  dream.  Your  great-uncle 
Ralph  had  ridden  too  long  and  too  far  in  the  sun,  and 
imagined  the  treasure,  which  has  driven  your  Uncle  Mal- 
colm crazy,  and  his  housekeeper  dumb,  and  has  benumbed 
you  so  that  you  sit  around  waiting,  waiting,  when  you 
ought  to  be  working,  working!  No,  Ben,  I  like  you  ever  so 
much,  but  you  will  never  take  me  to  New  York  with  your 
Uncle  Ralph's  money,  nor  will  you  ever  earn  enough  to  take 
me  with  your  own.     You  must  excuse  me  now,  for  here 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  129 

comes  my  cavalier.  Don't  hurry  away;  Aunt  Laura  will 
be  out  in  a  minute.  You  can  stay  and  work  on  your 
model;  I'll  not  be  here  to  interrupt  you.  Good  evening, 
Colonel  French!  Did  you  bring  me  a  Herald?  I  want 
to  look  at  the  advertisements." 

"Yes,  my  dear  young  lady,  there  is  Wednesday's — it  is 
only  two  days  old.     How  are  you,  Mr.  Dudley?" 

"Tol'able,  sir,  thank  you."  Ben  was  a  gentleman  by 
instinct,  though  his  heart  was  heavy  and  the  colonel  a 
favoured  rival. 

"By  the  way,"  said  the  colonel,  "I  wish  to  have  an 
interview  with  your  uncle,  about  the  old  mill  site.  He 
seems  to  have  been  a  stockholder  in  the  company,  and  we 
should  like  his  signature,  if  he  is  in  condition  to  give  it.  If 
not,  it  may  be  necessary  to  appoint  you  his  guardian,  with 
power  to  act  in  his  place." 

"He's  all  right,  sir,  in  the  morning,  if  you  come  early 
enough,"  replied  Ben,  courteously.  "You  can  tell  what  is 
best  to  do  after  you've  seen  him." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  the  colonel,  "I'll  have  my  man 
drive  me  out  to-morrow  about  ten,  say;  if  you'll  be  at 
home  ?    You  ought  to  be  there,  you  know." 

"Very  well,  sir,  I'll  be  there  all  day,  and  shall  expect 
you."    \ 

Graciella  threw  back  one  compassionate  glance,  as  they 
drove  away  behind  the  colonel's  high-stepping  brown 
horse,  and  did  not  quite  escape  a  pang  at  the  sight  of  her 
young  lover,  still  sitting  on  the  steps  in  a  dejected  attitude; 
and  for  a  moment  longer  his  reproachful  eyes  haunted  her. 
But  Graciella  prided  herself  on  being,  above  all  things, 
practical,  and,  having  come  out  for  a  good  time,  resolutely 
put  all  unpleasant  thoughts  aside. 

There  was  good  horse-flesh  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Clarendon,  and  the  colonel's  was  of  the  best.    Some  of 


130  THE   COLONEL'S  DREAM 

the  roads  about  the  town  were  good — not  very  well  kept 
roads,  but  the  soil  was  a  sandy  loam  and  was  self-draining, 
so  that  driving  was  pleasant  in  good  weather.  The 
colonel  had  several  times  invited  Miss  Laura  to  drive  with 
him,  and  had  taken  her  once;  but  she  was  often  obliged 
to  stay  with  her  mother.  Graciella  could  always  be  had, 
and  the  colonel,  who  did  not  like  to  drive  alone,  found  her 
a  vivacious  companion,  whose  naive  comments  upon  life 
were  very  amusing  to  a  seasoned  man  of  the  world.  She 
was  as  pretty,  too,  as  a  picture,  and  the  colonel  had  always 
admired  beauty — with  a  tempered  admiration. 

At  Graciella's  request  they  drove  first  down  Main 
Street,  past  the  post-office,  where  she  wished  to  mail  a  let- 
ter. They  attracted  much  attention  as  they  drove  through 
the  street  in  the  colonel's  new  trap.  Graciella's  billowy 
white  gown  added  a  needed  touch  of  maturity  to  her 
slender  youthfulness.  A  big  straw  hat  shaded  her  brown 
hair,  and  she  sat  erect,  and  held  her  head  high,  with  a 
vivid  consciousness  that  she  was  the  central  feature  of  a 
very  attractive  whole.  The  colonel  shared  her  thought, 
and  looked  at  her  with  frank  admiration. 

"You  are  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,"  he  declared. 
"I  suppose  I'm  an  object  of  envy  to  every  young  fellow  in 
town." 

Graciella  blushed  and  bridled  with  pleasure.  "I  am 
not  interested  in  the  young  men  of  Clarendon,"  she  replied 
loftily;  "they  are  not  worth  the  trouble." 

"Not  even — Ben?"  asked  the  colonel  slyly. 

"Oh,"  she  replied,  with  studied  indifference,  "Mr. 
Dudley  is  really  a  cousin,  and  only  a  friend.  He  comes 
to  see  the  family." 

The  colonel's  attentions  could  have  but  one  meaning, 
and  it  was  important  to  disabuse  his  mind  concerning  Ben. 
Nor  was  she  the  only  one  in  the  family  who  entertained 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  131 

that  thought.  Of  late  her  grandmother  had  often  addressed 
her  in  an  unusual  way,  more  as  a  woman  than  as  a  child; 
and,  only  the  night  before,  had  retold  the  old  story  of  her 
own  sister  Mary,  who,  many  years  before,  had  married  a 
man  of  fifty.  He  had  worshipped  her,  and  had  died, 
after  a  decent  interval,  leaving  her  a  large  fortune.  From 
which  the  old  lady  had  deduced  that,  on  the  whole,  it  was 
better  to  be  an  old  man's  darling  than  a  young  man's  slave. 
She  had  made  no  application  of  the  story,  but  Graciella 
was  astute  enough  to  draw  her  own  conclusions. 

Her  Aunt  Laura,  too,  had  been  unusually  kind;  she 
had  done  up  the  white  gown  twice  a  week,  had  trimmed 
her  hat  for  her,  and  had  worn  old  gloves  that  she  might 
buy  her  niece  a  new  pair.  And  her  aunt  had  looked  at  her 
wistfully  and  remarked,  with  a  sigh,  that  youth  was  a 
glorious  season  and  beauty  a  great  responsibility.  Poor 
dear,  good  old  Aunt  Laura!  When  the  expected  hap- 
pened, she  would  be  very  kind  to  Aunt  Laura,  and  repay 
her,  so  far  as  possible,  for  all  her  care  and  sacrifice. 


CHAPTER  XV 

It  was  only  a  short  time  after  his  visit  to  the  Excelsior 
Mills  that  Colonel  French  noticed  a  falling  off  in  the 
progress  made  by  his  lawyer,  Judge  Bullard,  in  procuring 
the  signatures  of  those  interested  in  the  old  mill  site,  and 
after  the  passing  of  several  weeks  he  began  to  suspect  that 
some  adverse  influence  was  at  work.  This  suspicion  was 
confirmed  when  Judge  Bullard  told  him  one  day,  with 
some  embarrassment,  that  he  could  no  longer  act  for  him 
in  the  matter. 

"I'm  right  sorry,  Colonel,"  he  said.  "I  should  like  to 
help  you  put  the  thing  through,  but  I  simply  can't  afford 
it.  Other  clients,  whose  business  I  have  transacted  for 
years,  and  to  whom  I  am  under  heavy  obligations,  have 
intimated  that  they  would  consider  any  further  activity  of 
mine  in  your  interest  unfriendly  to  theirs." 

"I  suppose,"  said  the  colonel,  "your  clients  wish  to 
secure  the  mill  site  for  themselves.  Nothing  imparts  so 
much  value  to  a  thing  as  the  notion  that  somebody  else 
wants  it:  Of  course,  I  can't  ask  you  to  act  for  me  further, 
and  if  you'll  make  out  your  bill,  I  '11  hand  you  a  check." 

"I  hope,"  said  Judge  Bullard,  "there'll  be  no  ill-feeling 
about  our  separation." 

"Oh,  no,"  responded  the  colonel,  politely,  "not  at  all. 
Business  is  business,  and  a  man's  own  interests  are  his 
first  concern." 

"I'm  glad  you  feel  that  way,"  replied  the  lawyer,  much 
relieved.  He  had  feared  that  the  colonel  might  view  the 
matter  differently. 

132 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  133 

"Some  men,  you  know,"  he  said,  "might  have  kept  on, 
and  worked  against  you,  while  accepting  your  retainer; 
there  are  such  skunks  at  the  bar." 

"There  are  black  sheep  in  every  fold,"  returned  the 
colonel  with  a  cold  smile.  "It  would  be  unprofessional, 
I  suppose,  to  name  your  client,  so  I'll  not  ask  you." 

The  judge  did  not  volunteer  the  information,  but  the 
colonel  knew  instinctively  whence  came  opposition  to 
his  plan,  and  investigation  confirmed  his  intuition. 
Judge  Bullard  was  counsel  for  Fetters  in  all  matters  where 
skill  and  knowledge  were  important,  and  Fetters  held  his 
note,  secured  by  mortgage,  for  money  loaned.  For 
dirty  work  Fetters  used  tools  of  baser  metal,  but,  like  a 
wise  man,  he  knew  when  these  were  useless,  and  was 
shrewd  enough  to  keep  the  best  lawyers  under  his  control. 

The  colonel,  after  careful  inquiry,  engaged  to  take 
Judge  Bullard's  place,  one  Albert  Caxton,  a  member  of  a 
good  old  family,  a  young  man,  and  a  capable  lawyer,  who 
had  no  ascertainable  connection  with  Fetters,  and  who,  in 
common  with  a  small  fraction  of  the  best  people,  regarded 
Fetters  with  distrust,  and  ascribed  his  wealth  to  usury 
and  to  what,  in  more  recent  years,  has  come  to  be  known 
as  "graft.' 

To  a  man  of  Colonel  French's  business  training,  oppo- 
sition was  merely  a  spur  to  effort.  He  had  not  run  a  race 
of  twenty  years  in  the  commercial  field,  to  be  worsted  in 
the  first  heat  by  the  petty  boss  of  a  Southern  backwoods 
county.  Why  Fetters  opposed  him  he  did  not  know. 
Perhaps  he  wished  to  defeat  a  possible  rival,  or  merely  to 
keep  out  principles  and  ideals  which  would  conflict  with 
his  own  methods  and  injure  his  prestige.  But  if  Fetters 
wanted  a  fight,  Fetters  should  have  a  fight. 

Colonel  French  spent  much  of  his  time  at  young  Cax- 
ton's  office,  instructing  the  new  lawyer  in  the  details  of  the 


134  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

mill  affair.  Caxton  proved  intelligent,  zealous,  and  sin- 
gularly sympathetic  with  his  client's  views  and  plans. 
They  had  not  been  together  a  week  before  the  colonel 
realised  that  he  had  gained  immensely  by  the  change. 

The  colonel  took  a  personal  part  in  the  effort  to  procure 
signatures,  among  others  that  of  old  Malcolm  Dudley 
and  on  the  morning  following  the  drive  with  Giaciella,  he 
drove  out  to  Mink  Run  to  see  the  old  gentleman  in  person 
and  discover  whether  or  not  he  was  in  a  condition  to 
transact  business. 

Before  setting  out,  he  went  to  his  desk — his  father's 
desk,  which  Miss  Laura  had  sent  to  him — to  get  certain 
papers  for  old  Mr.  Dudley's  signature,  if  the  latter  should 
prove  capable  of  a  legal  act.  He  had  laid  the  papers  on 
top  of  some  others  which  had  nearly  filled  one  of  the 
numerous  small  drawers  in  the  desk.  Upon  opening  the 
drawer  he  found  that  one  of  the  papers  was  missing. 

The  colonel  knew  quite  well  that  he  had  placed  the 
paper  in  the  drawer  the  night  before;  he  remembered  the 
circumstance  very  distinctly,  for  the  event  was  so  near 
that  it  scarcely  required  an  exercise,  not  to  say  an  effort, 
of  memory.  An  examination  of  the  drawer  disclosed  that 
the  piece  forming  the  back  of  it  was  a  little  lower  than  the 
sides.  Possibly,  thought  the  colonel,  the  paper  had  slipped 
off  and  fallen  behind  the  drawer. 

He  drew  the  drawer  entirely  out,  and  slipped  his  hand 
into  the  cavity.  At  the  back  of  it  he  felt  the  corner  of 
a  piece  of  paper  projecting  upward  from  below.  The 
paper  had  evidently  slipped  off  the  top  of  the  others  and 
fallen  into  a  crevice,  due  to  the  shrinkage  of  the  wood 
or  some  defect  ofconstruction. 

The  opening  for  the  drawer  was  so  shallow  that 
though  he  could  feel  the  end  of  the  paper,  he  was  unable 
to  get  such  a  grasp  of  it  as  would  permit  him  to  secure  it 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  135 

easily.  But  it  was  imperative  that  he  have  the  paper; 
and  since  it  bore  already  several  signatures  obtained  with 
some  difficulty,  he  did  not  wish  to  run  the  risk  of  tearing  it. 

He  examined  the  compartment  below  to  see  if  perchance 
the  paper  could  be  reached  from  there,  but  found  that  it 
could  not.  There  was  evidently  a  lining  to  the  desk,  and  the 
paper  had  doubtless  slipped  down  between  this  and  the 
finished  panels  forming  the  back  of  the  desk.  To  reach 
it,  the  colonel  procured  a  screw  driver,  and  turning  the 
desk  around,  loosened,  with  some  difficulty,  the  screws  that 
fastened  the  proper  panel,  and  soon  recovered  the  paper. 
With  it,  however,  he  found  a  couple  of  yellow,  time- 
stained  envelopes,  addressed  on  the  outside  to  Major 
John  Tread  well. 

The  envelopes  were  unsealed.  He  glanced  into  one 
of  them,  and  seeing  that  it  contained  a  sheet,  folded 
small,  presumably  a  letter,  he  thrust  the  two  of  them  into 
the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat,  intending  to  hand  them  to 
Miss  Laura  at  their  next  meeting.  They  were  probably 
old  letters  and  of  no  consequence,  but  they  should  of 
course  be  returned  to  the  owners. 

In  putting  the  desk  back  in  its  place,  after  returning 
the  panel  and  closing  the  crevice  against  future  accidents, 
the  colonel  caught  his  coat  on  a  projecting  point  and 
tore  a  long  rent  in  the  sleeve  It  was  an  old  coat,  and 
worn  only  about  the  house;  and  when  he  changed  it  before 
leaving  to  pay  his  call  upon  old  Malcolm  Dudley,  he 
hung  it  in  a  back  corner  in  his  clothes  closet,  and  did 
not  put  it  on  again  for  a  long  time.  Since  he  was  very 
busily  occupied  in  the  meantime,  the  two  old  letters  to 
which  he  had  attached  no  importance,  escaped  his  memory 
altogether. 

The  colonel's  coachman,  a  young  coloured  man  by  the 
name  of  Tom,  had  complained  of  illness  early  in  the  morn-« 


136  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

ing,  and  the  colonel  took  Peter  along  to  drive  him  to  Mink 
Run,  as  well  as  to  keep  him  company.  On  their  way- 
through  the  town  they  stopped  at  Mrs.  Treadwell's,  where 
they  left  Phil,  who  had,  he  declared,  some  important 
engagement  with  Graciella. 

The  distance  was  not  long,  scarcely  more  than  five  miles. 
Ben  Dudley  was  in  the  habit  of  traversing  it  on  horseback, 
twice  a  day.  When  they  had  passed  the  last  straggling  cabin 
of  the  town,  their  way  lay  along  a  sandy  road,  flanked  by 
fields  green  with  corn  and  cotton,  broken  by  stretches  of 
scraggy  pine  and  oak,  growing  upon  land  once  under 
cultivation,  but  impoverished  by  the  wasteful  methods  of 
slavery;  land  that  had  never  been  regenerated,  and  was  now 
no  longer  tilled.  Negroes  were  working  in  the  fields,  birds 
were  singing  in  the  trees.  Buzzards  circled  lazily  against 
the  distant  sky.  Although  it  was  only  early  summer, 
a  languor  in  the  air  possessed  the  colonel's  senses,  and 
suggested  a  certain  charity  toward  those  of  his  neighbours 
— and  they  were  most  of  them — who  showed  no  marked 
zeal  for  labour. 

"Work,"  he  murmured,  "is  best  for  happiness,  but  in 
this  climate  idleness  has  its  compensations.  What,  in 
the  end,  do  we  get  for  all  our  labour?" 

"Fifty  cents  a  day,  an'  fin'  yo'se'f,  suh,"  said  Peter, 
supposing  the  soliloquy  addressed  to  himself.  "Dat's 
w'at  dey  pays  roun'  hyuh." 

When  they  reached  a  large  clearing,  which  Peter  pointed 
out  as  their  destination,  the  old  man  dismounted  with 
considerable  agility,  and  opened  a  rickety  gate  that  was 
held  in  place  by  loops  of  rope.  Evidently  the  entrance 
had  once  possessed  some  pretensions  to  elegance, 
for  the  huge  hewn  posts  had  originally  been  faced  with 
dressed  lumber  and  finished  with  ornamental  capitals, 
some  fragments  of  which  remained;  and  the  one  massive 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  137 

hinge,  hanging  by  a  slender  rust-eaten  nail,  had  been 
wrought  into  a  fantastic  shape.  As  they  drove  through 
the  gateway,  a  green  lizard  scampered  down  from  the  top 
of  one  of  the  posts,  where  he  had  been  sunning  himself, 
and  a  rattlesnake  lying  in  the  path  lazily  uncoiled  his 
motley  brown  length,  and  sounding  his  rattle,  wriggled 
slowly  off  into  the  rank  grass  and  weeds  that  bordered 
the  carriage  track. 

The  house  stood  well  back  from  the  road,  amid  great 
oaks  and  elms  and  unpruned  evergreens.  The  lane  by 
which  it  was  approached  was  partly  overgrown  with 
weeds  and  grass,  from  which  the  mare's  fetlocks  swept 
the  dew,  yet  undried  by  the  morning  sun. 

The  old  Dudley  "mansion,"  as  it  was  called,  was  a  large 
two-story  frame  house,  built  in  the  colonial  style,  with  a 
low-pitched  roof,  and  a  broad  piazza  along  the  front, 
running  the  full  length  of  both  stories  and  supported  by 
thick  round  columns,  each  a  solid  piece  of  pine  timber, 
gray  with  age  and  lack  of  paint,  seamed  with  fissures  by 
the  sun  and  rain  of  many  years.  The  roof  swayed  down- 
ward on  one  side;  the  shingles  were  old  and  cracked  and 
moss-grown;  several  of  the  second  story  windows  were 
boarded  up,  and  others  filled  with  sashes  from  which 
most  of  the  glass  had  disappeared. 

About  the  house,  for  a  space  of  several  rods  on  each  side 
of  it,  the  ground  was  bare  of  grass  and  shrubbery,  rough 
and  uneven,  lying  in  little  hillocks  and  hollows,  as  though 
recently  dug  over  at  haphazard,  or  explored  by  some 
vagrant  drove  of  hogs.  At  one  side,  beyond  this  barren 
area,  lay  a  kitchen  garden,  enclosed  by  a  paling  fence. 
The  colonel  had  never  thought  of  young  Dudley  as  being 
at  all  energetic,  but  so  ill-kept  a  place  argued  shiftlessness 
in  a  marked  degree. 

When  the  carriage  had  drawn  up  in  front  of  the  house, 


138  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

the  colonel  became  aware  of  two  figures  on  the  long 
piazza.  At  one  end,  in  a  massive  oaken  armchair,  sat  an 
old  man — seemingly  a  very  old  man,  for  he  was  bent  and 
wrinkled,  with  thin  white  hair  hanging  down  upon  his 
shoulders.  His  face,  of  a  highbred  and  strongly  marked 
type,  emphasised  by  age,  had  the  hawk-like  contour,  that 
is  supposed  to  betoken  extreme  acquisitiveness.  His 
faded  eyes  were  turned  toward  a  woman,  dressed  in  a 
homespun  frock  and  a  muslin  cap,  who  sat  bolt  upright, 
in  a  straight-backed  chair,  at  the  other  end  of  the  piazza, 
with  her  hands  folded  on  her  lap,  looking  fixedly  toward 
her  vis-a-vis.  Neither  of  them  paid  the  slightest  attention 
to  the  colonel,  and  when  the  old  man  rose,  it  was  not  to 
step  forward  and  welcome  his  visitor,  but  to  approach  and 
halt  in  front  of  the  woman. 

"Viney,"  he  said,  sharply,  "I  am  tired  of  this  nonsense. 
I  insist  upon  knowing,  immediately,  where  my  uncle  left 
the  money." 

The  woman  made  no  reply,  but  her  faded  eyes  glowed 
for  a  moment,  like  the  ashes  of  a  dying  fire,  and  her  figure 
stiffened  perceptibly  as  she  leaned  slightly  toward  him. 

"Show  me  at  once,  you  hussy,"  he  said,  shaking  his 
fist,  "or  you'll  have  reason  to  regret  it.  I'll  have  you 
whipped."  His  cracked  voice  rose  to  a  shrill  shriek  as 
he  uttered  the  threat. 

The  slumbrous  fire  in  the  woman's  eyes  flamed  up  for 
a  moment.  She  rose,  and  drawing  herself  up  to  her  full 
height,  which  was  greater  than  the  old  man's,  made  some 
incoherent  sounds,  and  bent  upon  him  a  look  beneath 
which  he  quailed. 

"Yes,  Viney,  good  Viney,"  he  said,  soothingly,  "I 
know  it  was  wrong,  and  I've  always  regretted  it,  always, 
from  the  very  moment.  But  you  shouldn't  bear  malice. 
Servants,  the  Bible  says,  should  obey  their  masters,  and 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  139 

you  should  bless  them  that  curse  you,  and  do  good  to 
them  that  despitefully  use  you.  But  I  was  good  to  you 
before,  Viney,  and  I  was  kind  to  you  afterwards,  and  I 
know  you've  forgiven  me,  good  Viney,  noble-hearted 
Viney,  and  you're  going  to  tell  me,  aren't  you  ?"  he  pleaded, 
laying  his  hand  caressingly  upon  her  arm. 

She  drew  herself  away,  but,  seemingly  mollified,  moved 
her  lips  as  though  in  speech.  The  old  man  put  his  hand 
to  his  ear  and  listened  with  an  air  of  strained  eagerness, 
well-nigh  breathless  in  its  intensity. 

"Try  again,  Viney,"  he  said,  "that's  a  good  girl.  Your 
old  master  thinks  a  great  deal  of  you,  Viney.  He  is  your 
best  friend!" 

Again  she  made  an  inarticulate  response,  which  he 
nevertheless  seemed  to  comprehend,  for,  brightening  up 
immediately,  he  turned  from  her,  came  down  the  steps 
with  tremulous  haste,  muttering  to  himself  meanwhile, 
seized  a  spade  that  stood  leaning  against  the  steps,  passed 
by  the  carriage  without  a  glance,  and  began  digging 
furiously  at  one  side  of  the  yard.  The  old  woman 
watched  him  for  a  while,  with  a  self-absorption  that  was 
entirely  oblivious  of  the  visitors,  and  then  entered  the 
house. 

The  colonel  had  been  completely  absorbed  in  this  cur- 
ious drama.  There  was  an  air  of  weirdness  and  unreality 
about  it  all.  Old  Peter  was  as  silent  as  if  he  had 
been  turned  into  stone.  Something  in  the  atmosphere 
conduced  to  somnolence,  for  even  the  horses  stood  still, 
with  no  signs  of  restlessness.  The  colonel  was  the  first 
to  break  the  spell. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  them,  Peter  ?     Do  you  know  ?  " 

"Dey's  bofe  plumb  'stracted,  suh — clean  out'n  dey 
min's — dey  be'n  dat  way  fer  yeahs  an'  yeahs  an'  yeahs." 

"That's  Mr.  Dudley,  I  suppose?" 


14Q  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

"Yas,  suh,  dat's  ole  Mars  Ma'com  Dudley,  de  uncle  er 
young  Mistah  Ben  Dudley  w'at  hangs  'roun  Miss  Grac'ella 
so  much." 

"And  who  is  the  woman?" 

"She's  a  bright  mulattah  'oman,  suh,  w'at  use'  ter 
b'long  ter  de  family  befo'  de  wah,  an'  has  kep'  house  fer 
ole  Mars'  Ma'com  ever  sence.  He  'lows  dat  she  knows 
whar  old  Mars'  Rafe  Dudley,  his  uncle,  hid  a  million 
dollahs  endyoin'  de  wah,  an'  huh  tongue's  paralyse'  so 
she  can't  tell  'im — an'  he's  be'n  tryin'  ter  fin'  out  fer  de 
las'  twenty-five  years.  I  wo'ked  out  hyuh  one  summer  on 
plantation,  an'  I  seen  'em  gwine  on  like  dat  many  an* 
many  a  time.  Dey  don'  nobody  roun'  hyuh  pay  no 
'tention  to  'em  no  mo',  ev'ybody's  so  use'  ter  seein'  'em." 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance 
of  Ben  Dudley,  who  came  around  the  house,  and,  advan- 
cing to  the  carriage,  nodded  to  Peter,  and  greeted  the 
colonel  respectfully. 

"Won't  you  'light  and  come  in  ?"  he  asked. 

The  colonel  followed  him  into  the  house,  to  a  plainly 
furnished  parlour.  There  was  a  wide  fireplace,  with  a 
fine  old  pair  of  brass  andirons,  and  a  few  pieces  of  old 
mahogany  furniture,  incongruously  assorted  with  half  a 
dozen  splint-bottomed  chairs.  The  floor  was  bare,  and 
on  the  walls  half  a  dozen  of  the  old  Dudleys  looked 
out  from  as  many  oil  paintings,  with  the  smooth  glaze 
that  marked  the  touch  of  the  travelling  artist,  in  the  days 
before  portrait  painting  was  superseded  by  photography 
and  crayon  enlargements. 

Ben  returned  in  a  few  minutes  with  his  uncle.  Old 
Malcolm  seemed  to  have  shaken  off  his  aberration,  and 
greeted  the  colonel  with  grave  politeness. 

"I  am  glad,  sir,"  he  said,  giving  the  visitor  his  hand, 
"to  make  your  acquaintance.    I  have  been  working  in  the 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  141 

garden — the  flower-garden — for  the  sake  of  the  exercise. 
We  have  negroes  enough,  though  they  are  very  trifling 
nowadays,  but  the  exercise  is  good  for  my  health.  I  have 
trouble,  at  times,  with  my  rheumatism,  and  with  my — 
my  memory."  He  passed  his  hand  over  his  brow  as 
though  brushing  away  an  imaginary  cobweb. 

"Ben  tells  me  you  have  a  business  matter  to  present 
to  me?" 

The  colonel,  somewhat  mystified,  after  what  he  had  wit- 
nessed, by  this  sudden  change  of  manner,  but  glad  to  find 
the  old  man  seemingly  rational,  stated  the  situation  in 
regard  to  the  mill  site.  Old  Malcolm  seemed  to  under- 
stand perfectly,  and  accepted  with  willingness  the  colonel's 
proposition  to  give  him  a  certain  amount  of  stock  in  the 
new  company  for  the  release  of  such  rights  as  he  might 
possess  under  the  old  incorporation.  The  colonel  had 
brought  with  him  a  contract,  properly  drawn,  which  was 
executed  by  old  Malcolm,  and  witnessed  by  the  colonel 
and  Ben. 

"I  trust,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Dudley,  "that  you  will  not 
ascribe  it  to  any  discourtesy  that  I  have  not  called  to  see 
you.  I  knew  your  father  and  your  grandfather.  But  the 
cares  of  my  estate  absorb  me  so  completely  that  I 
never  leave  home.  I  shall  send  my  regards  to  you  now 
and  then  by  my  nephew.  I  expect,  in  a  very  short  time, 
when  certain  matters  are  adjusted,  to  be  able  to  give  up,  to 
a  great  extent,  my  arduous  cares,  and  lead  a  life  of  greater 
leisure,  which  will  enable  me  to  travel  and  cultivate  a 
wider  acquaintance.  When  that  time  comes,  sir,  I  shall 
hope  to  see  more  of  you." 

The  old  gentleman  stood  courteously  on  the  steps 
while  Ben  accompanied  the  colonel  to  the  carriage.  It 
had  scarcely  turned  into  the  lane  when  the  colonel,  looking 
back,  saw  the  old  man  digging  furiously.     The  condition 


142  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

of  the  yard  was  explained;  he  had  been  unjust  in  ascrib- 
ing it  to  Ben's  neglect. 

"I  reckon,  suh,"  remarked  Peter,  "dat  w'en  he  fin'  dat 
million  dollahs,  Mistah  Ben'll  marry  Miss  Grac'ella  an' 
take  huh  ter  New  Yo'k." 

"Perhaps — and  perhaps  not,"  said  the  colonel.  To 
himself  he  added,  musingly,  "Old  Malcolm  will  start  on  a 
long  journey  before  he  finds  the — million  dollars.  The 
watched  pot  never  boils.  Buried  treasure  is  never  found 
by  those  who  seek  it,  but  always  accidentally,  if  at  all." 

On  the  way  back  they  stopped  at  the  Tread  wells'  for 
Phil.  Phil  was  not  ready  to  go  home.  He  was  intensely 
interested  in  a  long-eared  mechanical  mule,  constructed  by 
Ben  Dudley  out  of  bits  of  wood  and  leather  and  controlled 
by  certain  springs  made  of  rubber  bands,  by  manipu- 
lating which  the  mule  could  be  made  to  kick  furiously. 
Since  the  colonel  had  affairs  to  engage  his  attention,  and 
Phil  seemed  perfectly  contented,  he  was  allowed  to  remain, 
with  the  understanding  that  Peter  should  come  for  him  in 
the  afternoon. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Little  Phil  had  grown  very  fond  of  old  Peter,  who 
seemed  to  lavish  upon  the  child  all  of  his  love  and 
devotion  for  the  dead  generations  of  the  French  family. 
The  colonel  had  taught  Phil  to  call  the  old  man  "Uncle 
Peter,"  after  the  kindly  Southern  fashion  of  slavery  days, 
which,  denying  to  negroes  the  forms  of  address  applied 
to  white  people,  found  in  the  affectionate  terms  of  relation- 
ship— Mammy,  Auntie  and  Uncle — designations  that  re- 1 
cognised  the  respect  due  to  age,  and  yet  lost,  when  applied 
to  slaves,  their  conventional  significance.  There  was  a 
strong  sympathy  between  the  intelligent  child  and  the 
undeveloped  old  negro ;  they  were  more  nearly  on  a  mental 
level,  leaving  out,  of  course,  the  factor  of  Peter's  expe- 
rience, than  could  have  been  the  case  with  one  more  gener- 
ously endowed  than  Peter,  who,  though  by  nature  faithful, 
had  never  been  unduly  bright.  Little  Phil  became  so 
attached  to  his  old  attendant  that,  between  Peter  and  the 
Treadwell  ladies,  the  colonel's  housekeeper  had  to  give 
him  very  little  care. 

On  Sunday  afternoons  the  colonel  and  Phil  and  Peter 
would  sometimes  walk  over  to  the  cemetery.  The  family 
lot  was  now  kept  in  perfect  order.  The  low  fence  around 
it  had  been  repaired,  and  several  leaning  headstones 
straightened  up.  But,  guided  by  a  sense  of  fitness,  and 
having  before  him  the  awful  example  for  which  Fetters 
was  responsible,  the  colonel  had  added  no  gaudy  monu- 
ment nor  made  any  alterations  which  would  disturb  the 
quiet  beauty  of  the  spot  or  its  harmony  with  the  surround- 

143 


144  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

ings.  In  the  Northern  cemetery  where  his  young  wife 
was  buried,  he  had  erected  to  her  memory  a  stately  mau- 
soleum, in  keeping  with  similar  memorials  on  every  hand. 
But  here,  in  this  quiet  graveyard,  where  his  ancestors 
slept  their  last  sleep  under  the  elms  and  the  willows,  dis- 
play would  have  been  out  of  place.  He  had,  however, 
placed  a  wrought-iron  bench  underneath  the  trees,  where 
he  would  sit  and  read  his  paper,  while  little  Phil  questioned 
old  Peter  about  his  grandfather  and  his  great-grandfather, 
their  prowess  on  the  hunting  field,  and  the  wars  they 
fought  in;  and  the  old  man  would  delight  in  detailing,  in 
his  rambling  and  disconnected  manner,  the  past  glories  of 
the  French  family.  It  was  .always  a  new  story  to  Phil, 
and  never  grew  stale  to  the  old  man.  If  Peter  could  be 
believed,  there  were  never  white  folks  so  brave,  so  learned, 
so  wise,  so  handsome,  so  kind  to  their  servants,  so  just  to 
all  with  whom  they  had  dealings.  Phil  developed  a  very 
great  fondness  for  these  dead  ancestors,  whose  graves  and 
histories  he  soon  knew  as  well  as  Peter  himself.  With  his 
lively  imagination  he  found  pleasure,  as  children  often 
do,  in  looking  into  the  future.  The  unoccupied  space 
in  the  large  cemetery  lot  furnished  him  food  for  much 
speculation. 

"Papa,"  he  said,  upon  one  of  these  peaceful  afternoons, 
"there's  room  enough  here  for  all  of  us,  isn't  there — you, 
and  me  and  Uncle  Peter?" 

"Yes,  Phil,"  said  his  father,  "there's  room  for  several 
generations  of  Frenches  yet  to  sleep  with  their  fathers." 

Little  Phil  then  proceeded  to  greater  detail.  "Here," 
he  said,  "next  to  grandfather,  will  be  your  place,  and  here 
next  to  that,  will  be  mine,  and  here,  next  to  me  will  be — 
but  no,"  he  said,  pausing  reflectively,  "that  ought  to  be 
saved  for  my  little  boy  when  he  grows  up  and  dies,  that 
is,  when  I  grow  up  and  have  a  little  boy  and  he  grows  up 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  145 

and  grows  old  and  dies  and  leaves  a  little  boy  and — but 
where  will  Uncle  Peter  be  ?" 

"Nem  mine  me,  honey,"  said  the  old  man,  "dey  can 
put  me  somewhar  e'se.     Hit  doan'  mattuh  'bout  me." 

"No,  Uncle  Peter,  you  must  be  here  with  the  rest  of  us. 
For  you  know,  Uncle  Peter,  I'm  so  used  to  you  now,  that 
I  should  want  you  to  be  near  me  then." 

Old  Peter  thought  to  humour  the  lad.  "Put  me  down 
hyuh  at  de  foot  er  de  lot,  little  Mars'  Phil,  unner  dis  ellum 
tree." 

"Oh,  papa,"  exclaimed  Phil,  demanding  the  colonel's 
v attention,  "Uncle  Peter  and  I  have  arranged  everything. 
You  know  Uncle  Peter  is  to  stay  with  me  as  long  as  I 
live,  and  when  he  dies,  he  is  to  be  buried  here  at  the  foot 
of  the  lot,  under  the  elm  tree,  where  he'll  be  near  me 
all  the  time,  and  near  the  folks  that  he  knows  and  that 
know  him." 

"All  right,  Phil.     You  see  to  it;  you'll  live  longer." 

"  But,  papa,  if  I  should  die  first,  and  then  Uncle  Peter, 
and  you  last  of  all,  you'll  put  Uncle  Peter  near  me,  won't 
you,  papa?" 

"Why,  bless  your  little  heart,  Phil,  of  course  your  daddy 
will  do  whatever  you  want,  if  he's  here  to  do  it.  But 
you'll  live,  Phil,  please  God,  until  I  am  old  and  bent  and 
white-haired,  and  you  are  a  grown  man,  with  a  beard,  and 
a  little  boy  of  your  own." 

"Yas,  suh,"  echoed  the  old  servant,  "an'  till  ole  Peter's 
bones  is  long  sence  crumble'  inter  dus\  None  er  de 
Frenches'  ain'  never  died  till  dey  was  done  growed  up." 

On  the  afternoon  following  the  colonel's  visit  to  Mink 
Run,  old  Peter,  when  he  came  for  Phil,  was  obliged  to 
stay  long  enough  to  see  the  antics  of  the  mechanical  mule; 
and  had  not  that  artificial  animal  suddenly  refused  to 
kick,  and  lapsed  into  a  characteristic  balkiness  for  which 


146  THE   COLONEL'S  DREAM 

there  was  no  apparent  remedy,  it  might  have  proved  diffi- 
cult to  get  Phil  away. 

"There,  Philip  dear,  never  mind,"  said  Miss  Laura, 
"we'll  have  Ben  mend  it  for  you  when  he  comes,  next  time, 
and  then  you  can  play  with  it  again." 

Peter  had  brought  with  him  some  hooks  and  lines,  and, 
he  and  Phil,  after  leaving  the  house,  followed  the  bank 
of  the  creek,  climbing  a  fence  now  and  then,  until  they 
reached  the  old  mill  site,  upon  which  work  had  not  yet 
begun.  They  found  a  shady  spot,  and  seating  them- 
selves upon  the  bank,  baited  their  lines,  and  dropped  them 
into  a  quiet  pool.  For  quite  a  while  their  patience  was 
unrewarded  by  anything  more  than  a  nibble.  By  and  by 
a  black  cat  came  down  from  the  ruined  mill,  and  sat  down 
upon  the  bank  at  a  short  distance  from  them. 

"I  reckon  we'll  haf  ter  move,  honey,"  said  the  old 
man.  "We  ain't  gwine  ter  have  no  luck  fishin'  'g'ins'  no 
ole  black  cat." 

"But  cats  don't  fish,  Uncle  Peter,  do  they?" 

"Law',  chile,  you'll  never  know  w'at  dem  critters  kin 
do,  'tel  you's  watched  'em  long  ez  I  has!  Keep  yo'  eye 
on  dat  one  now." 

The  cat  stood  by  the  stream,  in  a  watchful  attitude. 
Suddenly  she  darted  her  paw  into  the  shallow  water  and 
with  a  lightning-like  movement  drew  out  a  small  fish, 
which  she  took  in  her  mouth,  and  retired  with  it  a  few 
yards  up  the  bank. 

"Jes'  look  at  dat  ole  devil,"  said  Peter,  "playin'  wid 
dat  fish  jes'  lack  it  wuz  a  mouse!  She'll  be  comin'  down 
heah  terreckly  tellin'  us  ter  go  'way  fum  her  fishin' 
groun's." 

"Why,  Uncle  Peter,"  said  Phil  incredulously,  "cats 
can't  talk!" 

"Can't    dey?    Hoo    said    dey    couldn'?    Ain't    Miss 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  147 

Grac'ella  an'  me  be'n  tellin'  you  right  along  'bout  Bre'r 
Rabbit  and  Bre'r  Fox  an  de  yuther  creturs  talkin'  an' 
gwine  on  jes'  lak  folks?" 

"Yes,  Uncle  Peter,  but  those  were  just  stories;  they 
didn't  really  talk,  did  they?" 

"Law',  honey,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  sly  twinkle 
in  his  rheumy  eye,  "you  is  de  sma'tes'  little  white  boy  I 
ever  knowed,  but  you  is  got  a  monst'us  heap  ter  l'arn  yit, 
chile.  Nobody  ain'  done  tol'  you  'bout  de  Black  Cat  an' 
de  Ha'nted  House,  is  dey?" 

"No,  Uncle  Peter— you  tell  me." 

"I  didn'  knowed  but  Miss  Grac'ella  mought  a  tole  you 
— she  knows  mos'  all  de  tales." 

"No,  she  hasn't.     You  tell  me  about  it,  Uncle  Peter." 

"Well,"  said  Peter,  "does  you  'member  dat  coal-black 
man  dat  drives  de  lumber  wagon  ?" 

"Yes,  he  goes  by  our  house  every  day,  on  the  way  to  the 
sawmill." 

"Well,  it  all  happen'  'long  er  him.  He  'uz  gwine  long 
de  street  one  day,  w'en  he  heared  two  gent'emen — one 
of  'em  was  ole  Mars'  Tom  Sellers  an'  I  fuhgot  de  yuther — 
but  dey  'uz  talkin'  'bout  dat  ole  h'anted  house  down  by 
de  creek,  'bout  a  mile  from  hyuh,  on  de  yuther  side  er 
town,  whar  we  went  fishin'  las'  week.  Does  you  'member 
de  place?" 

"Yes,  I  remember  the  house." 

"Well,  as  dis  yer  Jeff — dat's  de  lumber-wagon  driver's 
name — as  dis  yer  Jeff  come  up  ter  dese  yer  two  gentlemen, 
one  of  'em  was  sayin,  'I'll  bet  five  dollahs  dey  ain'  narry  a 
man  in  dis  town  would  stay  in  dat  ha'nted  house  all  night.' 
Dis  yer  Jeff,  he  up  'n  sez,  sezee,  '  Scuse  me,  suh,  but  ef 
you'll  'low  me  ter  speak,  suh,  I  knows  a  man  wat'll  stay 
in  dat  ole  ha'nted  house  all  night.'" 

"What  is  a  ha'nted  house,  Uncle  Peter?"  asked  Phil. 


148  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

"Wy,  Law',  chile,  a  ha'nted  house  is  a  house  whar 
dey's  ha'nts!" 

"And  what  are  ha'nts,  Uncle  Peter?" 

"Ha'nts,  honey,  is  sperrits  er  dead  folks,  dat  comes 
back  an'  hangs  roun'  whar  dey  use'  ter  lib." 

"Do  all  spirits  come  back,  Uncle  Peter?" 

"No,  chile,  bress  de  Lawd,  no.  Only  de  bad  ones, 
w'at  has  be'n  so  wicked  dey  can't  rest  in  dey  graves.  Folks 
lack  yo'  gran'daddy  and  yo'  gran'mammy — an'  all  de 
Frenches—- dey  don'  none  er  dem  come  back,  fer  dey  wuz 
all  good  people  an'  is  all  gone  ter  hebben.  But  I'm  fer- 
gittin'  de  tale. 

"'Well,  hoo's  de  man — hoo's  de  man?'  ax  Mistah 
Sellers,  w'en  Jeff  toF  'im  dey  wuz  somebody  wat  'ud  stay 
in  de  ole  ha'nted  house  all  night. 

"'I'm  de  man,'  sez  Jeff.  'I  ain't  skeered  er  no  ha'nt 
dat  evuh  walked,  an'  I  sleeps  in  graveya'ds  by  pref'ence; 
fac',  I  jes  nach'ly  lacks  ter  talk  ter  ha'nts.  You  pay  me 
de  five  dollahs,  an'  I'll  'gree  ter  stay  in  de  ole  house  f'm 
nine  er  clock  'tel  daybreak.' 

"Dey  talk'  ter  Jeff  a  w'ile,  an'  dey  made  a  bahgin  wid 
'im;  dey  give  'im  one  dollah  down,  an'  promus'  'im  fo'  mo' 
in  de  mawnin'  ef  he  stayed  'tel  den. 

"So  w'en  he  got  de  dollah  he  went  uptown  an'  spent  it, 
an'  'long  'bout  nine  er  clock  he  tuk  a  lamp,  an'  went  down 
ter  de  ole  house,  an'  went  inside  an'  shet  de  do'. 

"  Dey  wuz  a  rickety  ole  table  settin'  in  de  middle  er  de 
flo\  He  sot  de  lamp  on  de  table.  Den  he  look  'roun'  de 
room,  in  all  de  cawners  an'  up  de  chimbly,  ter  see  dat  dey 
wan't  nobody  ner  nuthin'  hid  in  de  room.  Den  he  tried 
all  de  winders  an'  fastened  de  do',  so  dey  couldn'  nobody 
ner  nuthin'  git  in.  Den  he  fotch  a'  ole  rickety  chair  f'm 
one  cawner,  and  set  it  by  de  table,  and  sot  down.  He 
wuz  settin'  dere,  noddin'  his  head,  studyin'  'bout  dem 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  149 

other  fo'  dollahs,  an'  w'at  he  wuz  gwine  buy  wid  'em, 
w'en  bimeby  he  kinder  dozed  off,  an'  befo'  he  knowed  it 
he  wuz  settin'  dere  fast  asleep." 

"W'en  he  woke  up,  'long  'bout  'leven  erclock,  de  lamp 
had  bu'n'  down  kinder  low.  He  heared  a  little  noise 
behind  him  an'  look  'roun',  an'  dere  settin'  in  de  middle 
•  er  de  flo'  wuz  a  big  black  tomcat,  wid  his  tail  quirled  up 
over  his  back,  lookin'  up  at  Jeff  wid  bofe  his  two  big  yaller 
eyes. 

"  Jeff  rub'  'is  eyes,  ter  see  ef  he  wuz  'wake,  an  w'iles  he 
sot  dere  wond'rin'  whar  de  hole  wuz  dat  dat  ole  cat  come 
in  at,  fus'  thing  he  knowed,  de  ole  cat  wuz  settin'  right 
up  'side  of  'im,  on  de  table,  wid  his  tail  quirled  up  roun' 
de  lamp  chimbly. 

"Jeff  look'  at  de  black  cat,  an'  de  black  cat  look'  at 
Jeff.  Den  de  black  cat  open  his  mouf  an'  showed  'is  teef, 
an'  sezee " 

"'Good  evenin'!' 

" '  Good  evenin'  suh, '  'spon'  Jeff,  trimblin'  in  de  knees, 
an'  kind'er  edgin'  'way  fum  de  table. 

" '  Dey  ain'  nobody  hyuh  but  you  an'  me,  is  dey  ? '  sez 
de  black  cat,  winkin'  one  eye. 

"'No,  suh,'  sez  Jeff,  as  he  made  fer  de  do';  'an'  quick 
ez  I  kin  git  out  er  hyuh,  dey  ain'  gwine  ter  be  nobody  hyuh 
but  you!'" 

"Is  that  all,  Uncle  Peter?"  asked  Phil,  when  the  old 
man  came  to  a  halt  with  a  prolonged  chuckle. 

"Huh?" 

"Is  that  all?" 

"No,  dey's  mo'  er  de  tale,  but  dat's  ernuff  ter  prove 
dat  black  cats  kin  do  mo'  dan  little  w'ite  boys  'low  dey 
kin." 

"Did  Jeff  go  away?" 

"Did  he  go 'way!    Why,  chile,  he  jes'  flew  away!  Befo' 


150  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

he  got  ter  de  do',  howsomevuh,  he  'membered  he  had  locked 
it,  so  he  didn'  stop  ter  try  ter  open  it,  but  went  straight 
out'n  a  winder,  quicker'n  lightnin',  an'  kyared  de  sash  'long 
wid  'im.  An'  he'd  be'n  in  sech  pow'ful  has'e  dat  he  knock' 
de  lamp  over  an'  lack  ter  sot  de  house  afire.  He  nevuh 
got  de  yuther  fo'  dollahs  of  co'se,  'ca'se  he  didn't  stay  in  de 
ole  ha'nted  house  all  night,  but  he  'lowed  he'd  sho'ly 
'arned  de  one  dollah  he'd  had  a'ready." 

"Why  didn't  he  want  to  talk  to  the  black  cat,  Uncle 
Peter?" 

"  Why  didn'  he  wan*  ter  talk  ter  de  black  cat  ?  Whoever 
heared  er  sich  a  queshtun!  He  didn'  wan'  ter  talk  wid  no 
black  cat,  'ca'se  he  wuz  skeered.  Black  cats  brings  'nuff 
bad  luck  w'en  dey  doan'  talk,  let  'lone  w'en  dey  does." 

"I  should  like,"  said  Phil,  reflectively,  "to  talk  to  a  black 
cat.     I  think  it  would  be  great  fun." 

"Keep  away  f'm  'em,  chile,  keep  away  f'm  'em.  Dey 
is  some  things  too  deep  fer  little  boys  ter  projec'  wid,  an' 
black  cats  is  one  of  'em." 

They  moved  down  the  stream  and  were  soon  having 
better  luck. 

"  Uncle  Peter,"  said  Phil,  while  they  were  on  their  way 
home,  "there  couldn't  be  any  ha'nts  at  all  in  the  grave- 
yard where  my  grandfather  is  buried,  could  there  ?  Gra- 
ciella  read  a  lot  of  the  tombstones  to  me  one  day,  and  they 
all  said  that  all  the  people  were  good,  and  were  resting 
in  peace,  and  had  gone  to  heaven.  Tombstones  always 
tell  the  truth,  don't  they,  Uncle  Peter  ?" 

"  Happen  so,  honey,  happen  so !  De  French  tombstones 
does ;  an'  as  ter  de  res',  I  ain'  gwine  to  'spute  'em,  nohow, 
fer  ef  I  did,  de  folks  under  'em  mought  come  back  an* 
ha'nt  me,  jes'  fer  spite." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

By  considerable  effort,  and  a  moderate  outlay,  the  col- 
onel at  length  secured  a  majority  of  interest  in  the  Eureka 
mill  site  and  made  application  to  the  State,  through  Cax- 
ton,  for  the  redemption  of  the  title.  The  opposition  had 
either  ceased  or  had  proved  ineffective.  There  would  be 
some  little  further  delay,  but  the  outcome  seemed  practi- 
cally certain,  and  the  colonel  did  not  wait  longer  to  set  in 
motion  his  plans  for  the  benefit  of  Clarendon. 

"I'm  told  that  Fetters  says  he'll  get  the  mill  anyway," 
said  Caxton,  "and  make  more  money  buying  it  under  fore- 
closure than  by  building  a  new  one.  He's  ready  to  lend 
on  it  now." 

"Oh,  damn  Fetters!"  exclaimed  the  colonel,  elated 
with  his  victory.  He  had  never  been  a  profane  man,  but 
strong  language  came  so  easy  in  Clarendon  that  one 
dropped  into  it  unconsciously.  "The  mill  will  be  run- 
ning on  full  time  when  Fetters  has  been  put  out  of  business. 
We've  won  our  first  fight,  and  I've  never  really  seen  the 
fellow  yet." 

As  soon  as  the  title  was  reasonably  secure,  the  colonel 
began  his  preparations  for  building  the  cotton  mill.  The 
first  step  was  to  send  for  a  New  England  architect  who 
made  a  specialty  of  mills,  to  come  down  and  look  the  site 
over,  and  make  plans  for  the  dam,  the  mill  buildings  and 
a  number  of  model  cottages  for  the  operatives.  As  soon  as 
the  estimates  were  prepared,  he  looked  the  ground  over 
to  see  how  far  he  could  draw  upon  local  resources  for 
material. 

151 


152  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

There  was  good  brick  clay  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town, 
where  bricks  had  once  been  made;  but  for  most  of  the 
period  since  the  war  such  as  were  used  in  the  town  had 
been  procured  from  the  ruins  of  old  buildings — it  was 
cheaper  to  clean  bricks  than  to  make  them.  Since  the 
construction  of  the  railroad  branch  to  Clarendon  the  few 
that  were  needed  from  time  to  time  were  brought  in  by 
train.  Not  since  the  building  of  the  Opera  House  block 
had  there  been  a  kiln  of  brick  made  in  the  town.  Inquiry 
brought  out  the  fact  that  in  case  of  a  demand  for  bricks 
there  were  brickmakers  thereabouts;  and  in  accordance 
with  his  general  plan  to  employ  local  labour,  the  colonel 
looked  up  the  owner  of  the  brickyard,  and  asked  if  he  were 
prepared  to  take  a  large  contract. 

The  gentleman  was  palpably  troubled  by  the  question. 

"Well,  colonel,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know.  I'd  s'posed 
you  were  goin'  to  impo't  yo'  bricks  from  Philadelphia." 

"No,  Mr.  Barnes,"  returned  the  colonel,  "I  want  to 
spend  the  money  here  in  Clarendon.  There  seems  to  be 
plenty  of  unemployed  labour." 

"Yes,  there  does,  till  you  want  somethin'  done;  then 
there  ain't  so  much.  I  s'pose  I  might  find  half  a  dozen 
niggers  round  here  that  know  how  to  make  brick;  and 
there's  several  more  that  have  moved  away  that  I  can  get 
back  if  I  send  for  them.  If  you  r'al'y  think  you  want  yo'r 
brick  made  here,  I'll  try  to  get  them  out  for  you.  They'll 
cost  you,  though,  as  much,  if  not  more  than,  you'd  have 
to  pay  for  machine-made  bricks  from  the  No'th." 

The  colonel  declared  that  he  preferred  the  local  product. 

"Well,  I'm  shore  I  don't  see  why,"  said  the  brickmaker. 
"They'll  not  be  as  smooth  or  as  uniform  in  colour." 

"They'll  be  Clarendon  brick,"  returned  the  colonel, 
"and  I  want  this  to  be  a  Clarendon  enterprise,  from  the 
ground  up." 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  153 

"Well,"  said  Barnes  resignedly,  "if  you  must  have 
home-made  brick,  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  make  'em. 
I'll  see  what  I  can  do." 

Colonel  French  then  turned  the  brick  matter  over  to 
Caxton,  who,  in  the  course  of  a  week,  worried  Barnes 
into  a  contract  to  supply  so  many  thousand  brick  within  a 
given  time. 

"I  don't  like  that  there  time  limit,"  said  the  brick- 
maker,  "but  I  reckon  I  can  make  them  brick  as  fast  as 
you  can  get  anybody  roun'  here  to  lay  'em." 

When  in  the  course  of  another  week  the  colonel  saw 
signs  of  activity  about  the  old  brickyard,  he  proceeded  with 
the  next  step,  which  was  to  have  the  ruins  of  the  old  factory 
cleared  away. 

"Well,  colonel,"  said  Major  McLean  one  day  when  the 
colonel  dropped  into  the  hotel,  where  the  Major  hung  out 
a  good  part  of  the  time,  "I  s'pose  you're  goin'  to  hire  white 
folks  to  do  the  work  over  there." 

"Why,"  replied  the  colonel,  "I  hadn't  thought  about  the 
colour  of  the  workmen.  There'll  be  plenty,  I  guess,  for 
all  who  apply,  so  long  as  it  lasts." 

"You'll  have  trouble  if  you  hire  niggers,"  said  the 
major.  "You'll  find  that  they  won't  work  when  you 
want  'em  to.  They're  not  reliable,  they  have  no  sense 
of  responsibility.  As  soon  as  they  get  a  dollar  they'll 
lay  off  to  spend  it,  and  leave  yo'  work  at  the  mos' 
critical  point." 

"Well,  now,  major,"  replied  the  colonel,  "I  haven't 
noticed  any  unnatural  activity  among  the  white  men  of 
the  town.  The  Negroes  have  to  live,  or  seem  to  think 
they  have,  and  I'll  give  'em  a  chance  to  turn  an  honest 
penny.  By  the  way,  major,  I  need  a  superintendent  to 
look  after  the  work.  It  don't  require  an  expert,  but  merely 
a  good  man — gentleman  preferred — whom  I  can  trust  to 


154  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

see  that  my  ideas  are  carried  out.  Perhaps  you  can  recom- 
mend such  a  person?" 

The  major  turned  the  matter  over  in  his  mind  before 
answering.  He  might,  of  course,  offer  his  own  services. 
The  pay  would  doubtless  be  good.  But  he  had  not  done 
any  real  work  for  years.  His  wife  owned  their  home. 
His  daughter  taught  in  the  academy.  He  was  drawn  on 
jury  nearly  every  term;  was  tax  assessor  now  and  then, 
and  a  judge  or  clerk  of  elections  upon  occasion.  Nor  did 
he  think  that  steady  employment  would  agree  with  his 
health,  while  it  would  certainly  interfere  with  his  pleasant 
visits  with  the  drummers  at  the  hotel. 

"I'd  be  glad  to  take  the  position  myself,  colonel,"  he 
said,  "but  I  r'aly  won't  have  the  time.  The  campaign 
will  be  hummin'  in  a  month  or  so,  an'  my  political  duties 
will  occupy  all  my  leisure.  But  I'll  bear  the  matter  in 
mind,  an'  see  if  I  can  think  of  any  suitable  person." 

The  colonel  thanked  him.  He  had  hardly  expected 
the  major  to  offer  his  services,  but  had  merely  wished,  for 
the  fun  of  the  thing,  to  try  the  experiment.  What  the 
colonel  really  needed  was  a  good  foreman — he  had  used 
the  word  "superintendent"  merely  on  the  major's  account, 
as  less  suggestive  of  work.  He  found  a  poor  white  man, 
however,  Green  by  name,  who  seemed  capable  and  ener- 
getic, and  a  gang  of  labourers  under  his  charge  was  soon 
busily  engaged  in  clearing  the  mill  site  and  preparing  for  the 
foundations  of  a  new  dam.  When  it  was  learned  that  the 
colonel  was  paying  his  labourers  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  day, 
there  was  considerable  criticism,  on  the  ground  that  such 
lavishness  would  demoralise  the  labour  market,  the  usual 
daily  wage  of  the  Negro  labourer  being  from  fifty  to  seventy- 
five  cents .  But  since  most  of  the  colonel's  money  soon  found 
its  way,  through  the  channels  of  trade,  into  the  pockets  of 
the  white  people,  the  criticism  soon  died  a  natural  death. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Once  started  in  his  career  of  active  benevolence,  the 
colonel's  natural  love  of  thoroughness,  combined  with  a 
philanthropic  zeal  as  pleasant  as  it  was  novel,  sought  out 
new  reforms.  They  were  easily  found.  He  had  begun, 
with  wise  foresight,  at  the  foundations  of  prosperity,  by 
planning  an  industry  in  which  the  people  could  find 
employment.  But  there  were  subtler  needs,  mental  and 
spiritual,  to  be  met.  Education,  for  instance,  so  impor- 
tant to  real  development,  languished  in  Clarendon.  There 
was  a  select  private  school  for  young  ladies,  attended  by 
the  daughters  of  those  who  could  not  send  their  children 
away  to  school.  A  few  of  the  town  boys  went  away  to 
military  schools.  Tho  remainder  of  the  white  youth 
attended  the  academy,  which  was  a  thoroughly  democratic 
institution,  deriving  its  support  partly  from  the  public 
school  fund  and  partly  from  private  subscriptions.  There 
was  a  coloured  public  school  taught  by  a  Negro  teacher. 
Ne:ther  school  had,  so  far  as  the  colonel  could  learn, 
attained  any  very  high  degree  of  efficiency.  At  one  time 
the  colonel  had  contemplated  building  a  schoolhouse  for 
the  children  of  the  mill  hands,  but  upon  second  thought 
decided  that  the  expenditure  would  be  more  widely  useful 
if  made  through  the  channels  already  established.  If  the 
old  academy  building  were  repaired,  and  a  wing  con- 
structed, for  which  there  was  ample  room  upon  the 
grounds,  it  would  furnish  any  needed  additional  accom- 
modation for  the  children  of  the  operatives,  and  avoid  the 
drawing  of  any  line  that  might  seem  to  put  these  in  a  class 

155 


156  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

apart.  There  were  already  lines  enough  in  the  town — 
the  deep  and  distinct  colour  line,  theoretically  all-pervasive, 
but  with  occasional  curious  exceptions ;  the  old  line  between 
the  "rich  white  folks"  or  aristocrats — no  longer  rich,  most 
of  them,  but  retaining  some  of  their  former  wealth  and 
clinging  tenaciously  to  a  waning  prestige — and  the  "poor 
whites,"  still  at  a  social  disadvantage,  but  gradually 
evolving  a  solid  middle  class,  with  reinforcements  from 
the  decaying  aristocracy,  and  producing  now  and  then 
some  ambitious  and  successful  man  like  Fetters.  To 
emphasise  these  distinctions  was  no  part  of  the  colonel's 
plan.  To  eradicate  them  entirely  in  any  stated  time  was 
of  course  impossible,  human  nature  being  what  it  was,  but 
he  would  do  nothing  to  accentuate  them.  His  mill 
hands  should  become,  like  the  mill  hands  in  New  England 
towns,  an  intelligent,  self-respecting  and  therefore  respected 
element  of  an  enlightened  population;  and  the  whole 
town  should  share  equally  in  anything  he  might  spend  for 
their  benefit. 

He  found  much  pleasure  in  talking  over  these  fine  plans 
of  his  with  Laura  Treadwell.  Caxton  had  entered  into 
them  with  the  enthusiasm  of  an  impressionable  young  man, 
brought  into  close  contact  with  a  forceful  personality. 
But  in  Miss  Laura  the  colonel  found  a  sympathy  that  was 
more  than  intellectual — that  reached  down  to  sources  of 
spiritual  strength  and  inspiration  which  the  colonel  could 
not  touch  but  of  which  he  was  conscious  and  of  which  he 
did  not  hesitate  to  avail  himself  at  second  hand.  Little 
Phil  had  made  the  house  almost  a  second  home;  and  the 
frequent  visits  of  his  father  had  only  strengthened  the 
colonel's  admiration  of  Laura's  character.  He  had 
learned,  not  from  the  lady  herself,  how  active  in  good 
works  she  was.  A  Lady  Bountiful  in  any  large  sense  she 
could  not  be,  for  her  means,  as  she  had  so  frankly  said 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  157 

upon  his  first  visit,  were  small.  But  a  little  went  a  long 
way  among  the  poor  of  Clarendon,  and  the  life  after  all  is 
more  than  meat,  and  the  body  more  than  raiment,  and 
advice  and  sympathy  were  as  often  needed  as  other  kinds 
of  help.  He  had  offered  to  assist  her  charities  in  a  sub- 
stantial way,  and  she  had  permitted  it  now  and  then,  but 
had  felt  obliged  at  last  to  cease  mentioning  them  altogether. 
He  was  able  to  circumvent  this  delicacy  now  and  then 
through  the  agency  of  Graciella,  whose  theory  was  that 
money  was  made  to  spend. 

"Laura,"  he  said  one  evening  when  at  the  house,  "will 
you  go  with  me  to-morrow  to  visit  the  academy  ?  I  wish 
to  see  with  your  eyes  as  well  as  with  mine  what  it  needs 
and  what  can  be  done  with  it.  It  shall  be  our  secret  until 
we  are  ready  to  surprise  the  town." 

They  went  next  morning,  without  notice  to  the  principal. 
The  school  was  well  ordered,  but  the  equipment  poor. 
The  building  was  old  and  sadly  in  need  of  repair.  The 
teacher  was  an  ex-Confederate  officer,  past  middle  life, 
well  taught  by  the  methods  in  vogue  fifty  years  before,  but 
scarcely  in  harmony  with  modern  ideals  of  education.  In 
spite  of  his  perfect  manners  and  unimpeachable  charac- 
ter, the  Professor,  as  he  was  called,  was  generally  under- 
stood to  hold  his  position  more  by  virtue  of  his  need  and 
his  influence  than  of  his  fitness  to  instruct.  He  had 
several  young  lady  assistants  who  found  in  teaching  the 
only  career  open,  in  Clarendon,  to  white  women  of  good 
family. 

The  recess  hour  arrived  while  they  were  still  at  school. 
When  the  pupils  marched  out,  in  orderly  array,  the  colonel, 
seizing  a  moment  when  Miss  Treadwell  and  the  professor 
were  speaking  about  some  of  the  children  whom  the 
colonel  did  not  know,  went  to  the  rear  of  one  of  the  school- 
rooms and  found,  without  much  difficulty,  high  up  on  one 


158  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

of  the  Walls,  the  faint  but  still  distinguishable  outline  of  a 
pencil  caricature  he  had  made  there  thirty  years  before. 
If  the  wall  had  been  whitewashed  in  the  meantime,  the 
lime  had  scaled  down  to  the  original  plaster.  Only  the 
name,  which  had  been  written  underneath,  was  illegible, 
though  he  could  reconstruct  with  his  mind's  eye  and  the 
aid  of  a  few  shadowy  strokes — "Bill  Fetters,  Sneak" — in 
angular  letters  in  the  printed  form. 

The  colonel  smiled  at  this  survival  of  youthful  bigotry. 
Yet  even  then  his  instinct  had  been  a  healthy  one;  his 
boyish  characterisation  of  Fetters,  schoolboy,  was  not  an 
inapt  description  of  Fetters,  man — mortgage  shark,  labour 
contractor  and  political  boss.  Bill,  seeking  official  favour, 
had  reported  to  the  Professor  of  that  date  some  boyish 
escapade  in  which  his  schoolfellows  had  taken  part,  and  it 
was  in  revenge  for  this  meanness  that  the  colonel  had 
chased  him  ignominiously  down  Main  Street  and  pilloried 
him  upon  the  schoolhouse  wall.  Fetters  the  man,  a 
Goliath  whom  no  David  had  yet  opposed,  had  fastened 
himself  upon  a  week  and  disorganised  community,  during 
a  period  of  great  distress  and  had  succeeded  by  devious 
ways  in  making  himself  its  master.  And  as  the  colonel 
stood  looking  at  the  picture  he  was  conscious  of  a  faint 
echo  of  his  boyish  indignation  and  sense  of  outraged 
honour.  Already  Fetters  and  he  had  clashed  upon  the 
subject  of  the  cotton  mill,  and  Fetters  had  retired  from 
the  field.  If  it  were  written  that  they  should  meet  in  a 
life-and-death  struggle  for  the  soul  of  Clarendon,  he  would 
not  shirk  the  conflict. 

"Laura,"  he  said,  when  they  went  away,  "I  should 
like  to  visit  the  coloured  school.  Will  you  come  with 
me?" 

She  hesitated,  and  he  could  see  with  half  an  eye  that  her 
answer  was  dictated  by  a  fine  courage. 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  159 

"Why,  certainly,  I  will  go.  Why  not?  It  is  a  place 
where  a  good  work  is  carried  on." 

"No,  Laura,"  said  the  colonel  smiling,  "you  need  not 
go.     On  second  thought,  I  should  prefer  to  go  alone." 

She  insisted,  but  he  was  firm.  He  had  no  desire  to  go 
counter  to  her  instincts,  or  induce  her  to  do  anything  that 
might  provoke  adverse  comment.  Miss  Laura  had  all 
the  fine  glow  of  courage,  but  was  secretly  relieved  at  being 
excused  from  a  trip  so  unconventional. 

So  the  colonel  found  his  way  alone  to  the  schoolhouse, 
an  unpainted  frame  structure  in  a  barren,  sandy  lot  upon 
a  street  somewhat  removed  from  the  centre  of  the  town 
and  given  over  mainly  to  the  humble  homes  of  Negroes. 
That  his  unannounced  appearance  created  some  embar- 
rassment was  quite  evident,  but  his  friendliness  toward 
the  Negroes  had  already  been  noised  abroad,  and  he  was 
welcomed  with  warmth,  not  to  say  effusion,  by  the  prin- 
cipal of  the  school,  a  tall,  stalwart  and  dark  man  with  an 
intelligent  expression,  a  deferential  manner,  and  shrewd 
but  guarded  eyes — the  eyes  of  the  jungle,  the  colonel  had 
heard  them  called;  and  the  thought  came  to  him,  was  it 
some  ancestral  jungle  on  the  distant  coast  of  savage  Africa, 
or  the  wilderness  of  another  sort  in  which  the  black  people 
had  wandered  and  were  wandering  still  in  free  America? 
The  attendance  was  not  large;  at  a  glance  the  colonel  saw 
that  there  were  but  twenty-five  pupils  present. 

"What  is  your  total  enrolment?"  he  asked  the  teacher. 

"Well,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  "we  have  seventy-five  or 
eighty  on  the  roll,  but  it  threatened  rain  this  morning,  and 
as  a  great  many  of  them  haven't  got  good  shoes,  they 
stayed  at  home  for  fear  of  getting  their  feet  wet." 

The  colonel  had  often  noticed  the  black  children  pad- 
dling around  barefoot  in  the  puddles  on  rainy  days,  but 
there  was  evidently  some  point  of  etiquette  connected  with 


160  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

attending  school  barefoot.  He  had  passed  more  than 
twenty-five  children  on  the  streets,  on  his  way  to  the  school- 
house. 

The  building  was  even  worse  than  that  of  the  academy, 
and  the  equipment  poorer  still.  Upon  the  colonel  ask- 
ing to  hear  a  recitation,  the  teacher  made  some  excuse 
and  shrewdly  requested  him  to  make  a  few  remarks. 
They  could  recite,  he  said,  at  any  time,  but  an  oppor- 
tunity to  hear  Colonel  French  was  a  privilege  not  to  be 
neglected. 

The  colonel,  consenting  good-humouredly,  was  intro- 
duced to  the  school  in  very  flowery  language.  The  pupils 
were  sitting,  the  teacher  informed  them,  in  the  shadow  of 
a  great  man.  A  distinguished  member  of  the  grand  old 
aristocracy  of  their  grand  old  native  State  had  gone  to  the 
great  North  and  grown  rich  and  famous.  He  had  returned 
to  his  old  home  to  scatter  his  vast  wealth  where  it  was  most 
needed,  and  to  give  his  fellow  townsmen  an  opportunity 
to  add  their  applause  to  his  world-wide  fame.  He  was 
present  to  express  his  sympathy  with  their  feeble  efforts  to 
rise  in  the  world,  and  he  wanted  the  scholars  all  to  listen 
with  the  most  respectful  attention. 

Colonel  French  made  a  few  simple  remarks  in  which  he 
spoke  of  the  advantages  of  education  as  a  means  of  forming 
character  and  of  fitting  boys  and  girls  for  the  work  of  men 
and  women.  In  former  years  his  people  had  been  charged 
with  direct  responsibility  for  the  care  of  many  coloured 
children,  and  in  a  larger  and  indirect  way  they  were  still 
responsible  for  their  descendants.  He  urged  them  to 
make  the  best  of  their  opportunities  and  try  to  fit  them- 
selves for  useful  citizenship.  They  would  meet  with  the 
difficulties  that  all  men  must,  and  with  some  peculiarly 
their  own.  But  they  must  look  up  and  not  down,  forward 
and  not  back,  seeking  always  incentives  to  hope  rather 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  161 

than  excuses  for  failure.  Before  leaving,  he  arranged 
with  the  teacher,  whose  name  was  Taylor,  to  meet  several 
of  the  leading  coloured  men,  with  whom  he  wished  to  dis- 
cuss some  method  of  improving  their  school  and  directing 
their  education  to  more  definite  ends.  The  meeting  was 
subsequently  held. 

"What  your  people  need,"  said  the  colonel  to  the  little 
gathering  at  the  schoolhouse  one  evening,  "is  to  learn 
not  only  how  to  read  and  write  and  think,  but  to  do  these 
things  to  some  definite  end.  We  live  in  an  age  of  special- 
ists. To  make  yourselves  valuable  members  of  society, 
you  must  learn  to  do  well  some  particular  thing,  by  which 
you  may  reasonably  expect  to  earn  a  comfortable  living 
in  your  own  home,  among  your  neighbours,  and  save 
something  for  old  age  and  the  education  of  your  children. 
Get  together.  Take  advice  from  some  of  your  own 
capable  leaders  in  other  places.  Find  out  what  you  can 
do  for  yourselves,  and  I  will  give  you  three  dollars  for 
every  one  you  can  gather,  for  an  industrial  school  or  some 
similar  institution.  Take  your  time,  and  when  you're 
ready  to  report,  come  and  see  me,  or  write  to  me,  if  I  am 
not  here." 

The  result  was  the  setting  in  motion  of  a  stagnant  pool. 
Who  can  measure  the  force  of  hope  ?  The  town  had  been 
neglected  by  mission  boards.  No  able  or  ambitious  Negro 
had  risen  from  its  midst  to  found  an  institution  and  find 
a  career.  The  coloured  school  received  a  grudging  dole 
from  the  public  funds,  and  was  left  entirely  to  the  super- 
vision of  the  coloured  people.  It  would  have  been  sur- 
prising had  the  money  always  been  expended  to  the  best 
advantage. 

The  fact  that  a  white  man,  in  some  sense  a  local  man, 
who  had  yet  come  from  the  far  North,  the  land  of  plenty, 
with  feelings  friendly  to  their  advancement,  had  taken  a 


162  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

personal  interest  in  their  welfare  and  proved  it  by  his 
presence  among  them,  gave  them  hope  and  inspiration 
for  the  future.  They  had  long  been  familiar  with  the 
friendship  that  curbed,  restricted  and  restrained,  and 
concerned  itself  mainly  with  their  limitations.  They  were 
almost  hysterically  eager  to  welcome  the  co-operation  of 
a  friend  who,  in  seeking  to  lift  them  up,  was  obsessed  by 
no  fear  of  pulling  himself  down  or  of  narrowing  in  some 
degree  the  gulf  that  separated  them — who  was  willing  not 
only  to  help  them,  but  to  help  them  to  a  condition  in 
which  they  might  be  in  less  need  of  help.  The  colonel 
touched  the  reserves  of  loyalty  in  the  Negro  nature,  exem- 
plified in  old  Peter  and  such  as  he.  Who  knows,  had 
these  reserves  been  reached  sooner  by  strict  justice  and 
patient  kindness,  that  they  might  not  long  since  have 
helped  to  heal  the  wounds  of  slavery  ? 

"And  now,  Laura,"  said  the  colonel,  "when  we  have 
improved  the  schools  and  educated  the  people,  we  must 
give  them  something  to  occupy  their  minds.  We  must 
have  a  library,  a  public  library." 

"That  will  be  splendid!"  she  replied  with  enthusiasm. 

"A  public  library,"  continued  the  colonel,  "housed  in  a 
beautiful  building,  in  a  conspicuous  place,  and  decorated 
in  an  artistic  manner — a  shrine  of  intellect  and  taste,  at 
which  all  the  people,  rich  and  poor,  black  and  white,  may 
worship." 

Miss  Laura  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  thoughtful. 

"But,  Henry,"  she  said  with  some  hesitation,  "do  you 
mean  that  coloured  people  should  use  the  library  ?  " 

"Why  not?"  he  asked.  "Do  they  not  need  it  most? 
Perhaps  not  many  of  them  might  wish  to  use  it;  but  to 
those  who  do,  should  we  deny  the  opportunity?  Con- 
sider their  teachers — if  the  blind  lead  the  blind,  shall  they 
not  both  fall  into  the  ditch?" 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  163 

"  Yes,  Henry,  that  is  the  truth ;  but  I  am  afraid  the  white 
people  wouldn't  wish  to  handle  the  same  books." 

"Very  well,  then  we  will  give  the  coloured  folks  a 
library  of  their  own,  at  some  place  convenient  for  their 
use.  We  need  not  strain  our  ideal  by  going  too  fast. 
Where  shall  I  build  the  library?" 

"The  vacant  lot,"  she  said,  "between  the  post-office 
and  the  bank." 

"The  very  place,"  he  replied.  "It  belonged  to  our 
family  once,  and  I  shall  be  acquiring  some  more  ancestral 
property.     The  cows  will  need  to  find  a  new  pasture." 

The  announcement  of  the  colonel's  plan  concerning  the 
academy  and  the  library  evoked  a  hearty  response  on  the 
part  of  the  public,  and  the  Anglo-Saxon  hailed  it  as  the 
dawning  of  a  new  era.  With  regard  to  the  colonel's 
friendly  plans  for  the  Negroes,  there  was  less  enthusiasm 
and  some  difference  of  opinion.  Some  commended  the 
colonel's  course.  There  were  others,  good  men  and 
patriotic,  men  who  would  have  died  for  liberty,  in  the 
abstract,  men  who  sought  to  walk  uprightly,  and  to  live 
peaceably  with  all,  but  who,  by  much  brooding  over  the 
conditions  surrounding  their  life,  had  grown  hopelessly 
pessimistic  concerning  the  Negro. 

The  subject  came  up  in  a  little  company  of  gentlemen 
who  were  gathered  around  the  colonel's  table  one  evening, 
after  the  coffee  had  been  served,  and  the  Havanas  passed 
around.  __ 

"Your  zeal  for  humanity  does  you  infinite  credit,  Colonel 
French,"  said  Dr.  Mackenzie,  minister  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church,  who  was  one  of  these  prophetic  souls,  "but  I  fear 
your  time  and  money  and  effort  will  be  wasted.  The 
Negroes  are  hopelessly  degraded.  They  have  degenerated 
rapidly  since  the  war." 

"  How  do  you  know,  doctor  ?    You  came  here  from  the 


164  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

North  long  after  the  war.  What  is  your  standard  of  com- 
parison ?  " 

"I  voice  the  unanimous  opinion  of  those  who  have 
known  them  at  both  periods." 

"J  don't  agree  with  you;  and  I  lived  here  before  the 
war.  There  is  certainly  one  smart  Negro  in  town.  Nichols, 
the  coloured  barber,  owns  five  houses,  and  overreached 
me  in  a  bargain.  Before  the  war  he  was  a  chattel.  And 
Taylor,  the  teacher,  seems  to  be  a  very  sensible  fellow." 

"Yes,"  said  Dr.  Price,  who  was  one  of  the  company, 
"Taylor  is  a  very  intelligent  Negro.  Nichols  and  he 
have  learned  how  to  live  and  prosper  among  the  white 
people." 

"They  are  exceptions,"  said  the  preacher,  "who  only 
prove  the  rule.  No,  Colonel  French,  for  a  long  time  I 
hoped  that  there  was  a  future  for  these  poor,  helpless 
blades.  But  of  late  I  have  become  profoundly  convinced 
that  there  is  no  place  in  this  nation  for  the  Negro,  except 
under  the  sod.  We  will  not  assimilate  him,  we  cannot 
deport  him " 

"And  therefore,  O  man  of  God,  must  we  exterminate 
him?" 

"It  is  God's  will.  We  need  not  stain  our  hands  with 
innocent  blood.  If  we  but  sit  passive,  and  leave  their  fate 
to  time,  they  will  die  away  in  discouragement  and  despair. 
Already  disease  is  sapping  their  vitals.  Like  other  weak 
races,  they  will  vanish  from  the  pathway  of  the  strong, 
and  there  is  no  place  for  them  to  flee.  When  they  go 
hence,  it  is  to  go  forever.  It  is  the  law  of  life,  which  God 
has  given  to  the  earth.  To  coddle  them,  to  delude  them 
with  false  hopes  of  an  unnatural  equality  which  not  all  the 
power  of  the  Government  has  been  able  to  maintain,  is  only 
to  increase  their  unhappinesss.  To  a  doomed  race,  ignor- 
ance is  euthanasia,  and  knowledge  is  but  pain  and  sorrow. 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  165 

It  is  His  will  that  the  fittest  should  survive,  and  that  those 
shall  inherit  the  earth  who  are  best  prepared  to  utilise  its 
forces  and  gather  its  fruits." 

"  My  dear  doctor,  what  you  say  may  all  be  true,  but,  with 
all  due  respect,  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  I  am  rather 
inclined  to  think  that  these  people  have  a  future;  that  there 
is  a  place  for  them  here;  that  they  have  made  fair  progress 
under  discouraging  circumstances;  that  they  will  not 
disappear  from  our  midst  for  many  generations,  if  ever; 
and  that  in  the  meantime,  as  we  make  or  mar  them,  we 
shall  make  or  mar  our  civilisation.  No  society  can  be 
greater  or  wiser  or  better  than  the  average  of  all  its  ele- 
ments. Our  ancestors  brought  these  people  here,  and 
lived  in  luxury,  some  of  them — or  went  into  bankruptcy, 
more  of  them — on  their  labour.  After  three  hundred 
years  of  toil  they  might  be  fairly  said  to  have  earned  their 
liberty.  At  any  rate,  they  are  here.  They  constitute 
the  bulk  of  our  labouring  class.  To  teach  them  is  to  make 
their  labour  more  effective  and  therefore  more  profitable; 
to  increase  their  needs  is  to  increase  our  profits  in  supplying 
them.  I'll  take  my  chances  on  the  Golden  Rule.  I  am 
no  lover  of  the  Negro,  as  Negro — I  do  not  know  but  I 
should  rather  see  him  elsewhere.  I  think  our  land  would 
have  been  far  happier  had  none  but  white  men  ever  set 
foot  upon  it  after  the  red  men  were  driven  back.  But 
they  are  here,  through  no  fault  of  theirs,  as  we  are.  They 
were  born  here.  We  have  given  them  our  language — 
which  they  speak  more  or  less  corruptly;  our  religion — 
which  they  practise  certainly  no  better  than  we;  and  our 
blood — which  our  laws  make  a  badge  of  disgrace.  Per- 
haps we  could  not  do  them  strict  justice,  without  a  great 
sacrifice  upon  our  own  part.  But  they  are  men,  and  they 
should  have  their  chance — at  least  some  chance." 

"I  shall  pray  for  your  success,"  sighed  the  preacher. 


166  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

"With  God  all  things  are  possible,  if  He  will  them.  But  I 
can  only  anticipate  your  failure." 

"The  colonel  is  growing  so  popular,  with  his  ready 
money  and  his  cheerful  optimism,"  said  old  General 
Thornton,  another  of  the  guests,  "that  we'll  have  to  run 
him  for  Congress,  as  soon  as  he  is  reconverted  to  the  faith 
of  his  fathers." 

Colonel  French  had  more  than  once  smiled  at  the 
assumption  that  a  mere  change  of  residence  would  alter 
his  matured  political  convictions.  His  friends  seemed 
to  look  upon  them,  so  far  as  they  differed  from  their  own, 
as  a  mere  veneer,  which  would  scale  off  in  time,  as  had 
the  multiplied  coats  of  whitewash  over  the  pencil  drawing 
made  on  the  school-house  wall  in  his  callow  youth. 

"You  see,"  the  old  general  went  on,  "  it's  a  social  matter 
down  here,  rather  than  a  political  one.  With  this  ignorant 
black  flood  sweeping  up  against  us,  the  race  question 
assumes  an  importance  which  overshadows  the  tariff  and 
the  currency  and  everything  else.  For  instance,  I  had 
fully  made  up  my  mind  to  vote  the  other  ticket  in  the  last 
election.  I  didn't  like  our  candidate  nor  our  platform. 
There  was  a  clean-cut  issue  between  sound  money  and 
financial  repudiation,  and  I  was  tired  of  the  domination  of 
populists  and  demagogues.  All  my  better  instincts  led 
me  toward  a  change  of  attitude,  and  I  boldly  proclaimed 
the  fact.  I  declared  my  political  and  intellectual  inde- 
pendence, at  the  cost  of  many  friends;  even  my  own 
son-in-law  scarcely  spoke  to  me  for  a  month.  When  I 
went  to  the  polls,  old  Sam  Brown,  the  triflingest  nigger 
in  town,  whom  I  had  seen  sentenced  to  jail  more  than  once 
for  stealing — old  Sam  Brown  was  next  to  me  in  the  line. 

"'Well,  Gin'l/  he  said,  'I'm  glad  you  is  got  on  de  right 
side  at  las',  an'  is  gwine  to  vote  our  ticket.'" 

"This  was  too  much!    I  could  stand  the  other  party  in 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  167 

the  abstract,  but  not  in  the  concrete.  I  voted  the  ticket 
of  my  neighbours  and  my  friends.  We  had  to  preserve 
our  institutions,  if  our  finances  went  to  smash.  Call  it 
prejudice — call  it  what  you  like — it's  human  nature,  and 
you'll  come  to  it,  colonel,  you'll  come  to  it — and  then  we'll 
send  you  to  Congress." 

"  I  might  not  care  to  go,"  returned  the  colonel,  smiling. 

"You  could  not  resist,  sir,  the  unanimous  demand  of  a 
determined  constituency.  Upon  the  rare  occasions  when, 
in  this  State,  the  office  has  had  a  chance  to  seek  the  man, 
it  has  never  sought  in  vain." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Time  slipped  rapidly  by,  and  the  colonel  had  been  in 
Clarendon  a  couple  of  months  when  he  went  home  one 
afternoon,  and  not  finding  Phil  and  Peter,  went  around 
to  the  Treadwells'  as  the  most  likely  place  to  seek  them. 

"Henry,"  said  Miss  Laura,  "Philip  does  not  seem  quite 
well  to-day.  There  are  dark  circles  under  his  eyes,  and 
he  has  been  coughing  a  little." 

The  colonel  was  startled.  Had  his  growing  absorption 
in  other  things  led  him  to  neglect  his  child  ?  Phil  needed 
a  mother.  This  dear,  thoughtful  woman,  whom  nature 
had  made  for  motherhood,  had  seen  things  about  his 
child,  that  he,  the  child's  father,  had  not  perceived.  To 
a  mind  like  Colonel  French's,  this  juxtaposition  of  a 
motherly  heart  and  a  motherless  child  seemed  very  pleas- 
ing. 

He  despatched  a  messenger  on  horseback  immediately 
for  Dr.  Price.  The  colonel  had  made  the  doctor's  ac- 
quaintance soon  after  coming  to  Clarendon,  and  out  of 
abundant  precaution,  had  engaged  him  o  call  once  a  week 
to  see  Phil.  A  physician  of  skill  and  experience,  a  gentle- 
man by  birth  and  breeding,  a  thoughtful  student  of  men 
and  manners,  and  a  good  story  teller,  he  had  proved 
excellent  company  and  the  colonel  soon  numbered 
him  among  his  intimate  friends.  He  had  seen  Phil  a 
few  days  before,  but  it  was  yet  several  days  before  his 
next  visit. 

Dr.  Price  owned  a  place  in  the  country,  several  miles 
away,  on  the  road  to  Mink  Run,  and  thither  the  messenger 

168 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  169 

went  to  find  him.  He  was  in  his  town  office  only  at  stated 
hours.  The  colonel  was  waiting  at  home,  an  hour  later, 
when  the  doctor  drove  up  to  the  gate  with  Ben  Dudley,  in 
the  shabby  old  buggy  to  which  Ben  sometimes  drove  his 
one  good  horse  on  his  trips  to  town. 

"I  broke  one  of  my  buggy  wheels  going  out  home  this 
morning,"  explained  the  doctor,  "  and  had  just  sent  it  to 
the  shop  when  your  messenger  came.  I  would  have 
ridden  your  horse  back,  and  let  the  man  walk  in,  but 
Mr.  Dudley  fortunately  came  along  and  gave  me  a  lift." 

He  looked  at  Phil,  left  some  tablets,  with  directions  for 
their  use,  and  said  that  it  was  nothing  serious  and  the 
child  would  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two. 

"What  he  needs,  colonel,  at  his  age,  is  a  woman's  care. 
But  for  that  matter  none  of  us  ever  get  too  old  to  need 
that." 

"I'll  have  Tom  hitch  up  and  take  you  home,"  said  the 
colonel,  when  the  doctor  had  finished  with  Phil,  "unless 
you'll  stay  to  dinner." 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  the  doctor,  "I'm  much  obliged, 
but  I  told  my  wife  I'd  be  back  to  dinner.  I'll  just  sit 
here  and  wait  for  young  Dudley,  who's  going  to  call 
for  me  in  an  hour.  There's  a  fine  mind,  colonel, 
that's  never  had  a  proper  opportunity  for  development. 
If  he'd  had  half  the  chance  that  your  boy  will,  he  would 
make  his  mark.     Did  you  ever  see  his  uncle  Malcolm  ?  " 

The  colonel  described  his  visit  to  Mink  Run,  the  scene 
on  the  piazza,  the  interview  with  Mr.  Dudley,  and  Peter's 
story  about  the  hidden  treasure. 

"  Is  the  old  man  sane  ? "  he  asked. 

"His  mind  is  warped,  undoubtedly,"  said  the  doctor, 
"but  I'll  leave  it  to  you  whether  it  was  the  result  of  an 
insane  delusion  or  not— if  you  care  to  hear  his  story — or 
perhaps  you've  heard  it  ?" 


170  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

"No,  I  have  not,"  returned  the  colonel,  "but  I  should 
like  to  hear  it. 
This  was  the  story  that  the  doctor  told : 

When  the  last  century  had  passed  the  half-way  mark, 
and  had  started  upon  its  decline,  the  Dudleys  had 
already  owned  land  on  Mink  Run  for  a  hundred  years  or 
more,  and  were  one  of  the  richest  and  most  conspicuous 
families  in  the  State.  The  first  great  man  of  the  family, 
General  Arthur  Dudley,  an  ardent  patriot,  had  won  dis- 
tinction in  the  War  of  Independence,  and  held  high  place 
in  the  councils  of  the  infant  nation.  His  son  became  a  dis- 
tinguished jurist,  whose  name  is  still  a  synonym  for  legal 
learning  and  juridical  wisdom.  In  Ralph  Dudley,  the 
son  of  Judge  Dudley,  and  the  immediate  predecessor  of 
the  demented  old  man  in  whom  now  rested  the  title  to  the 
remnant  of  the  estate,  the  family  began  *o  decline  from 
its  eminence.  Ralph  did  not  marry,  but  led  a  life  of  ease 
and  pleasure,  wasting  what  his  friends  thought  rare  gifts, 
and  leaving  his  property  to  the  management  of  his  nephew 
Malcolm,  the  orphan  son  of  a  younger  brother  and 
his  uncle's  prospective  heir.  Malcolm  Dudley  proved 
so  capable  a  manager  that  for  year  after  year  the  large 
estate  was  left  almost  entirely  in  his  charge,  the  owner 
looking  to  it  merely  for  revenue  to  lead  his  own  life  in 
other  places. 

The  Civil  War  gave  Ralph  Dudley  a  career,  not  upon 
the  field,  for  which  he  had  no  taste,  but  in  administrative 
work,  which  suited  his  talents,  and  imposed  more  arduous 
tasks  than  those  of  actual  warfare.  Valour  was  of  small 
account  without  arms  and  ammunition.  A  commis- 
sariat might  be  improvised,  but  gunpowder  must  be  manu- 
factured or  purchased. 

Ralph's  nephew  Malcolm  kept  bachelor's  hall  in  the 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  171 

great  house.  The  only  women  in  the  household  were  an 
old  black  cook,  and  the  housekeeper,  known  as  "Viney" 
— a  Negro  corruption  of  Lavinia — a  tall,  comely  young 
light  mulattress,  with  a  dash  of  Cherokee  blood,  which 
gave  her  straighter,  blacker  and  more  glossy  hair  than 
most  women  of  mixed  race  have,  and  perhaps  a  somewhat 
different  temperamental  endowment.  Her  duties  were  not 
onerous;  compared  with  the  toiling  field  hands  she  led 
an  easy  life.  The  household  had  been  thus  constituted 
for  ten  years  and  more,  when  Malcolm  Dudley  began 
paying  court  to  a  wealthy  widow. 

This  lady,  a  Mrs.  Todd,  was  a  war  widow,  who  had  lost 
her  husband  in  the  early  years  of  the  struggle.  War, 
while  it  took  many  lives,  did  not  stop  the  currents  of  life, 
and  weeping  widows  sometimes  found  consolation.  Mrs. 
Todd  was  of  Clarendon  extraction,  and  had  returned  to 
the  town  to  pass  the  period  of  her  mourning.  Men  were 
scarce  in  those  days,  and  Mrs.  Todd  was  no  longer  young, 
Malcolm  Dudley  courted  her,  proposed  marriage,  and  was 
accepted. 

He  broke  the  news  to  his  housekeeper  by  telling  her  to 
prepare  the  house  for  a  mistress.  It  was  not  a  pleasant' 
task,  but  he  was  a  resolute  man.  The  woman  had  been 
in  power  too  long  to  yield  gracefully.  Some  passionate 
strain  of  the  mixed  blood  in  her  veins  broke  out  in  a  scene 
of  hysterical  violence.  Her  pleadings,  remonstrances, 
rages,  were  all  in  vain.  Mrs.  Todd  was  rich,  and  he  was 
poor;  should  his  uncle  see  fit  to  marry — always  a  possi- 
bility— he  would  have  nothing.  He  would  carry  out  his 
purpose. 

The  day  after  this  announcement  Viney  went  to  town, 
sought  out  the  object  of  Dudley's  attentions,  and  told  her 
something;  just  what,  no  one  but  herself  and  the  lady 
ever  knew.     When  Dudley  called  in  the  evening,  the  widow 


172  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

refused  to  see  him,  and  sent  instead,  a  curt  note  cancelling 
their  engagement. 

Dudley  went  home  puzzled  and  angry.  On  the  way 
thither  a  suspicion  flashed  into  his  mind.  In  the  morning 
he  made  investigations,  after  which  he  rode  round  by  the 
residence  of  his  overseer.  Returning  to  the  house  at  noon, 
he  ate  his  dinner  in  an  ominous  silence,  which  struck 
terror  to  the  heart  of  the  woman  who  waited  on  him  and 
had  already  repented  of  her  temerity.  When  she  would 
have  addressed  him,  with  a  look  he  froze  the  words 
upon  her  lips.  When  he  had  eaten  he  looked  at  his 
watch,  and  ordered  a  boy  to  bring  his  horse  round  to 
the  door.  He  waited  until  he  saw  his  overseer  coming 
toward  the  house,  then  sprang  into  the  saddle  and  rode 
down  the  lane,  passing  the  overseer  with  a  nod. 

Ten  minutes  later  Dudley  galloped  back  up  the  lane  and 
sprang  from  his  panting  horse.  As  he  dashed  up  the  steps 
he  met  the  overseer  coming  out  of  the  house. 

"You  have  not " 

"I  have,  sir,  and  well!  The  she-devil  bit  my  hand  to 
the  bone,  and  would  have  stabbed  me  if  I  hadn't  got  the 
knife  away  from  her.  You'd  better  have  the  niggers  look 
after  her;  she's  shamming  a  fit." 

Dudley  was  remorseful,  and  finding  Viney  unconscious, 
sent  hastily  for  a  doctor. 

"The  woman  has  had  a  stroke,"  said  that  gentleman 
curtly,  after  an  examination,  "brought  on  by  brutal  treat- 
ment. By  G-d,  Dudley,  I  wouldn't  have  thought  this  of 
you !  I  own  Negroes,  but  I  treat  them  like  human  beings. 
And  such  a  woman!  I'm  ashamed  of  my  own  race,  I 
swear  I  am!  If  we  are  whipped  in  this  war  and  the 
slaves  are  freed,  as  Lincoln  threatens,  it  will  be  God's 
judgment!" 

Many  a  man  has  been  shot  by  Southern  gentlemen  for 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  173 

language  less  offensive;  but  Dudley's  conscience  made 
him  meek  as  Moses. 

"It  was  a  mistake,"  he  faltered,  "and  I  shall  discharge 
the  overseer  who  did  it." 

"You  had  better  shoot  him,"  returned  the  doctor.  "He 
has  no  soul — and  what  is  worse,  no  discrimination." 

Dudley  gave  orders  that  Viney  should  receive  the  best 
of  care.  Next  day  he  found,  behind  the  clock,  where  she 
had  laid  it,  the  letter  which  Ben  Dudley,  many  years  after, 
had  read  to  Graciella  on  Mrs.  Treadwell's  piazza.  It 
was  dated  the  morning  of  the  previous  day. 

An  hour  later  he  learned  of  the  death  of  his  uncle,  who 
had  been  thrown  from  a  fractious  horse,  not  far  from 
Mink  Run,  and  had  broken  his  neck  in  the  fall.  A  hasty 
search  of  the  premises  did  not  disclose  the  concealed 
treasure.  The  secret  lay  in  the  mind  of  the  stricken 
woman.  As  soon  as  Dudley  learned  that  Viney  had 
eaten  and  drunk  and  was  apparently  conscious,  he  went 
to  her  bedside  and  took  her  limp  hand  in  his  own. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Viney,  mighty  sorry,  I  assure  you.  Martin 
went  further  than  I  intended,  and  I  have  discharged  him 
for  his  brutality.  You'll  be  sorry,  Viney,  to  learn  that 
your  old  Master  Ralph  is  dead ;  he  was  killed  by  an  accident 
within  ten  miles  of  here.  His  body  will  be  brought  home 
to-day  and  buried  to-morrow." 

Dudley  thought  he  detected  in  her  expressionless  face 
a  shade  of  sorrow.  Old  Ralph,  high  liver  and  genial 
soul,  had  been  so  indulgent  a  master,  that  his  nephew 
suffered  by  the  comparison. 

"I  found  the  letter  he  left  with  you,"  he  continued 
softly,  "  and  must  take  charge  of  the  money  immediately. 
Can  you  tell  me  where  it  is  ? " 

One  side  of  Viney's  face  was  perfectly  inert,  as  the 
result  of  her  disorder,  and  any  movement  of  the  other 


174  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

produced  a  slight  distortion  that  spoiled  the  face  as  the 
index  of  the  mind.  But  her  eyes  were  not  dimmed,  and 
into  their  sombre  depths  there  leaped  a  sudden  fire — only 
a  momentary  flash,  for  almost  instantly  she  closed  her 
lids,  and  when  she  opened  them  a  moment  later,  they 
exhibited  no  trace  of  emotion. 

"You  will  tell  me  where  it  is  ?"  he  repeated.  A  request 
came  awkwardly  to  his  lips;  he  was  accustomed  to  com- 
mand. 

Viney  pointed  to  her  mouth  with  her  right  hand,  which 
was  not  affected. 

"To  be  sure,"  he  said  hastily,  "you  cannot  speak — not 
yet." 

He  reflected  for  a  moment.  The  times  were  unsettled. 
Should  a  wave  of  conflict  sweep  over  Clarendon,  the  money 
might  be  found  by  the  enemy.  Should  Viney  take  a 
turn  for  the  worse  and  die,  it  would  be  impossible  to  learn 
anything  from  her  at  all.  There  was  another  thought, 
which  had  rapidly  taken  shape  in  his  mind.  No  one  but 
Viney  knew  that  his  uncle  had  been  at  Mink  Run.  The 
estate  had  been  seriously  embarrassed  by  Roger's  extrava- 
gant patriotism,  following  upon  the  heels  of  other  and 
earlier  extravagances.  The  fifty  thousand  dollars  would 
in  part  make  good  the  loss;  as  his  uncle's  heir,  he  had  at 
least  a  moral  claim  upon  it,  and  possession  was  nine 
points  of  the  law. 

"Is  it  in  the  house  ?"  he  asked. 

She  made  a  negative  sign. 

"In  the  barn?" 

The  same  answer. 

"In  the  yard?  the  garden?  the  spring  house?  the  quar- 
ters?" 

No  question  he  could  put  brought  a  different  answer. 
Dudley  was  puzzled.    The  woman  was  in  her  right  mind; 


THE  COLONELS  DHEAM  175 

she  was  no  liar — of  this  servile  vice  at  least  she  was  free. 
Surely  there  was  some  mystery. 

"You  saw  my  uncle  ?"  he  asked  thoughtfully. 

She  nodded  affirmatively. 

"And  he  had  the  money,  in  gold  ?" 

Yes. 

"He  left  it  here?" 

Yes,  positively. 

"Do  you  know  where  he  hid  it?" 

She  indicated  that  she  did,  and  pointed  again  to  her 
silent  tongue. 

"You  mean  that  you  must  regain  your  speech  before 
you  can  explain?" 

She  nodded  yes,  and  then,  as  if  in  pain,  turned  her  face 
away  from  him. 

Viney  was  carefully  nursed.  The  doctor  came  to  see 
her  regularly.  She  was  fed  with  dainty  food,  and  no 
expense  was  spared  to  effect  her  cure.  In  due  time  she 
recovered  from  the  paralytic  stroke,  in  all  except  the 
power  of  speech,  which  did  not  seem  to  return.  All  of 
Dudley's  attempts  to  learn  from  her  the  whereabouts 
of  the  money  were  equally  futile.  She  seemed  willing 
enough,  but,  though  she  made  the  effort,  was  never  able 
to  articulate;  and  there  was  plainly  some  mystery  about 
the  hidden  gold  which  only  words  could  unravel. 

If  she  could  but  write,  a  few  strokes  of  the  pen  would 
give  him  his  heart's  desire!  But,  alas!  Viney  may  as 
well  have  been  without  hands,  for  any  use  she  could  make 
of  a  pen.  Slaves  were  not  taught  to  read  or  write,  nor 
was  Viney  one  of  the  rare  exceptions.  But  Dudley  was 
a  man  of  resource— he  would  have  her  taught.  He 
employed  a  teacher  for  her,  a  free  coloured  man  who 
knew  the  rudiments.  But  Viney,  handicapped  by  her 
loss  of  speech,  made  wretched  progress.    From  whatever 


176  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

cause,  she  manifested  a  remarkable  stupidity,  while 
seemingly  anxious  to  learn.  Dudley  himself  took  a  hand 
in  her  instruction,  but  with  no  better  results,  and,  in  the 
end,  the  attempt  to  teach  her  was  abandoned  as  hopeless. 

Years  rolled  by.  The  fall  of  the  Confederacy  left 
the  slaves  free  and  completed  the  ruin  of  the  Dudley 
estate.  Part  of  the  land  went,  at  ruinous  prices,  to  meet 
mortgages  at  ruinous  rates;  part  lay  fallow,  given  up  to 
scrub  oak  and  short-leaf  pine ;  merely  enough  was  culti- 
vated, or  let  out  on  shares  to  Negro  tenants,  to  provide  a 
living  for  old  Malcolm  and  a  few  servants.  Absorbed 
in  dreams  of  the  hidden  gold  and  in  the  search  for  it,  he 
neglected  his  business  and  fell  yet  deeper  into  debt.  He 
worried  himself  into  a  lingering  fever,  through  which 
Viney  nursed  him  with  every  sign  of  devotion,  and  from 
which  he  rose  with  his  mind  visibly  weakened. 

When  the  slaves  were  freed,  Viney  had  manifested  no 
desire  to  leave  her  old  place.  After  the  tragic  episode 
which  had  led  to  their  mutual  undoing,  there  had  been 
no  relation  between  them  but  that  of  master  and  servant. 
But  some  gloomy  attraction,  or  it  may  have  been  habit, 
held  her  to  the  scene  of  her  power  and  of  her  fall.  She 
had  no  kith  nor  kin,  and  her  affliction  separated  her  from 
the  rest  of  mankind.  Nor  would  Dudley  have  been  willing 
to  let  her  go,  for  in  her  lay  the  secret  of  the  treasure; 
and,  since  all  other  traces  of  her  ailment  had  disappeared, 
so  her  speech  might  return.  The  fruitless  search  was  never 
relinquished,  and  in  time  absorbed  all  of  Malcolm  Dudley's 
interest.  The  crops  were  left  to  the  servants,  who 
neglected  them.  The  yard  had  been  dug  over  many 
times.  Every  foot  of  ground  for  rods  around  had  been 
sounded  with  a  pointed  iron  bar.  The  house  had  suf- 
fered in  the  search.  No  crack  or  cranny  had  been  left 
unexplored.     The   spaces   between   the   walls,   beneath 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  177 

the  floors,  under  the  hearths — every  possible  hiding  place 
had  been  searched,  with  little  care  for  any  resulting 
injury. 

Into  this  household  Ben  Dudley,  left  alone  in  the  world, 
had  come  when  a  boy  of  fifteen.  He  had  no  special  turn 
for  farming,  but  such  work  as  was  done  upon  the  old 
plantation  was  conducted  under  his  supervision.  In 
the  decaying  old  house,  on  the  neglected  farm,  he  had 
grown  up  in  harmony  with  his  surroundings.  The 
example  of  his  old  uncle,  wrecked  in  mind  by  a  hopeless 
quest,  had  never  been  brought  home  to  him  as  a  warning; 
use  had  dulled  its  force.  He  had  never  joined  in  the 
search,  except  casually,  but  the  legend  was  in  his  mind. 
Unconsciously  his  standards  of  life  grew  around  it.  Some 
day  he  would  be  rich,  and  in  order  to  be  sure  of  it,  he  must 
remain  with  his  uncle,  whose  heir  he  was.  For  the  money 
was  there,  without  a  doubt.  His  great-uncle  had  hid  the 
gold  and  left  the  letter — Ben  had  read  it. 

The  neighbours  knew  the  story,  or  at  least  some  vague 
version  of  it,  and  for  a  time  joined  in  the  search — sur- 
reptitiously, as  occasion  offered,  and  each  on  his  own 
account.  It  was  the  common  understanding  that  old 
Malcolm  was  mentally  unbalanced.  The  neighbouring 
Negroes,  with  generous  imagination,  fixed  his  mythical 
and  elusive  treasure  at  a  million  dollars.  Not  one  of 
them  had  the  faintest  conception  of  the  bulk  or  purchas- 
ing power  of  one  million  dollars  in  gold;  but  when  one 
builds  a  castle  in  the  air,  why  not  make  it  lofty  and  spa- 
cious ? 

From  this  unwholesome  atmosphere  Ben  Dudley  found 
relief,  as  he  grew  older,  in  frequent  visits  to  Clarendon, 
which  invariably  ended  at  the  Tread  wells',  who  were, 
indeed,  distant  relatives.     He  had  one  good  horse,  and 


178  THE  COLONEL'S  DUEAM 

in  an  hour  or  less  could  leave  behind  him  the  shabby  old 
house,  falling  into  ruin,  the  demented  old  man,  digging 
in  the  disordered  yard,  the  dumb  old  woman  watching 
him  from  her  inscrutable  eyes ;  and  by  a  change  as  abrupt 
as  that  of  coming  from  a  dark  room  into  the  brightness 
of  midday,  find  himself  in  a  lovely  garden,  beside  a  beau- 
tiful girl,  whom  he  loved  devotedly,  but  who  kept  him  on 
the  ragged  edge  of  an  uncertainty  that  was  stimulating 
enough,  but  very  wearing. 


CHAPTER  XX 

The  summer  following  Colonel  French's  return  to 
Clarendon  was  unusually  cool,  so  cool  that  the  colonel, 
pleasantly  occupied  with  his  various  plans  and  projects, 
scarcely  found  the  heat  less  bearable  than  that  of  New 
York  at  the  same  season.  During  a  brief  torrid  spell  he 
took  Phil  to  a  Southern  mountain  resort  for  a  couple  of 
weeks,  and  upon  another  occasion  ran  up  to  New  York 
for  a  day  or  two  on  business  in  reference  to  the  machinery 
for  the  cotton  mill,  which  was  to  be  ready  for  installation 
some  time  during  the  fall.  But  these  were  brief  interludes, 
and  did  not  interrupt  the  current  of  his  life,  which  was 
flowing  very  smoothly  and  pleasantly  in  its  new  channel, 
if  not  very  swiftly,  for  even  the  colonel  was  not  able 
to  make  things  move  swiftly  in  Clarendon  during  the 
summer  time,  and  he  was  well  enough  pleased  to  see 
them  move  at  all. 

Kirby  was  out  of  town  when  the  colonel  was  in  New 
York,  and  therefore  he  did  not  see  him.  His  mail  was 
being  sent  from  his  club  to  Denver,  where  he  was  pre- 
sumably looking  into  some  mining  proposition.  Mrs. 
Jerviss,  the  colonel  supposed,  was  at  the  seaside,  but  he 
had  almost  come  face  to  face  with  her  one  day  on  Broad- 
way. She  had  run  down  to  the  city  on  business  of  some 
sort.  Moved  by  the  instinct  of  defense,  the  colonel,  by 
a  quick  movement,  avoided  the  meeting,  and  felt  safer 
when  the  lady  was  well  out  of  sight.  He  did  not  wish,  at 
this  time,  to  be  diverted  from  his  Southern  interests,  and 
the  image  of  another  woman  was  uppermost  in  his  mind, 

179 


180  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

One  moonlight  evening,  a  day  or  two  after  his  return 
from  this  brief  Northern  trip,  the  colonel  called  at  Mrs. 
Treadwells'.  Caroline  opened  the  door.  Mrs.  Tread- 
well,  she  said,  was  lying  down.  Miss  Graciella,  had  gone 
over  to  a  neighbour's,  but  would  soon  return.  Miss 
Laura  was  paying  a  call,  but  would  not  be  long.  Would 
the  colonel  wait?  No,  he  said,  he  would  take  a  walk, 
and  come  back  later. 

The  streets  were  shady,  and  the  moonlight  bathed  with 
a  silvery  glow  that  part  of  the  town  which  the  shadows  did 
not  cover.  Strolling  aimlessly  along  the  quiet,  unpaved 
streets,  the  colonel,  upon  turning  a  corner,  saw  a  lady 
walking  a  short  distance  ahead  of  him.  He  thought  he 
recognised  the  figure,  and  hurried  forward;  but  ere  he 
caught  up  with  her,  she  turned  and  went  into  one  of  a  row 
of  small  houses  which  he  knew  belonged  to  Nichols,  the 
coloured  barber,  and  were  occupied  by  coloured  people. 
Thinking  he  had  been  mistaken  in  the  woman's  identity, 
he  slackened  his  pace,  and  ere  he  had  passed  out  of  hearing, 
caught  the  tones  of  a  piano,  accompanying  the  words, 

"  I  dreamt  that  I  dwelt  in  marble  halls, 
With  vassals  and  serfs  at  my  s-i-i-de." 

It  was  doubtless  the  barber's  daughter.  The  barber's 
was  the  only  coloured  family  in  town  that  owned  a  piano. 
In  the  moonlight,  and  at  a  distance  of  some  rods,  the  song 
sounded  well  enough,  and  the  colonel  lingered  until  it 
ceased,  and  the  player  began  to  practise  scales,  when  he 
continued  his  walk.  He  had  smoked  a  couple  of  cigars, 
and  was  returning  toward  Mrs.  Treadwells',  when  he 
met,  face  to  face,  Miss  Laura  Treadwell  coming  out  of 
the  barber's  house.     He  lifted  his  hat  and  put  out  his  hand. 

"I  called  at  the  house  a  while  ago,  and  you  were  all 
out.    I  was  just  going  back.    I'll  walk  along  with  you." 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  181 

Miss  Laura  was  visibly  embarrassed  at  the  meeting. 
The  colonel  gave  no  sign  that  he  noticed  her  emotion, 
but  weDt  on  talking. 

"  It  is  a  delightful  evening,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  and  then  went  on,  "you  must  wonder 
what  I  was  doing  there." 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  "that  you  were  looking  for  a. 
servant,  or  on  some  mission  of  kindness  and  good  will." 

Miss  Laura  was  silent  for  a  moment  and  he  could  feel 
her  hand  tremble  on  the  arm  he  offered  her. 

"No,  Henry,"  she  said,  "why  should  I  deceive  you? 
I  did  not  go  to  find  a  servant,  but  to  serve.  I  have  told 
you  we  were  poor,  but  not  how  poor.  I  can  tell  you 
what  I  could  not  say  to  others,  for  you  have  lived  away 
from  here,  and  I  know  how  differently  from  most  of  us 
you  look  at  things.  I  went  to  the  barber's  house  to  give 
the  barber's  daughter  music  lessons — for  money." 

The  colonel  laughed  contagiously. 

"You  taught  her  to  sing — 

'I  dreamt  that  I  dwelt  in  marble  halls?'" 

"Yes,  but  you  must  not  judge  my  work  too  soon,"  she 
replied.     "It  is  not  finished  yet." 

"You  shall  let  me  know  when  it  is  done,"  he  said, 
"and  I  will  walk  by  and  hear  the  finished  product.  Your 
pupil  has  improved  wonderfully.  I  heard  her  singing 
the  song  the  day  I  came  back — the  first  time  I  walked  by 
the  old  house.  She  sings  it  much  better  now.  You  are 
a  good  teacher,  as  well  as  a  good  woman." 

Miss  Laura  laughed  somewhat  excitedly,  but  was  bent 
upon  her  explanation. 

"The  girl  used  to  come  to  the  house,"  she  said.  "Her 
mother  belonged  to  us  before  the  war,  and  we  have  been 
such  friends  as  white  and  black  can  be.    And  she  wanted 


182  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

to  learn  to  play,  and  offered  to  pay  me  well  for  lessons,  and 
I  gave  them  to  her.  We  never  speak  about  the  money 
at  the  house;  mother  knows  it,  but  feigns  that  I  do  it  out 
of  mere  kindness,  and  tells  me  that  I  am  spoiling  the 
coloured  people.  Our  friends  are  not  supposed  to  know 
it,  and  if  any  of  them  do,  they  are  kind  and  never  speak 
of  it.  Since  you  have  been  coming  to  the  house,  it  has 
not  been  convenient  to  teach  her  there,  and  I  have  been 
going  to  her  home  in  the  evening." 

"My  dear  Laura,"  said  the  colonel,  remorsefully,  "I 
have  driven  you  away  from  your  own  home,  and  all  un- 
wittingly. I  applaud  your  enterprise  and  your  public 
spirit.  It  is  a  long  way  from  the  banjo  to  the  piano — it 
marks  the  progress  of  a  family  and  foreshadows  the  evolu- 
tion of  a  race.  And  what  higher  work  than  to  elevate 
humanity?" 

They  had  reached  the  house.  Mrs.  Treadwell  had  not 
come  down,  nor  had  Graciella  returned.  They  went 
into  the  parlour.    Miss  Laura  turned  up  the  lamp. 

Graciella  had  run  over  to  a  neighbour's  to  meet  a  young 
lady  who  was  visiting  a  young  lady  who  was  a  friend  of 
Graciella's.  She  had  remained  a  little  longer  than  she 
had  meant  to,  for  among  those  who  had  called  to  see  her 
friend's  friend  was  young  Mr.  Fetters,  the  son  of  the 
magnate,  lately  returned  home  from  college.  Barclay 
Fetters  was  handsome,  well-dressed  and  well-mannered. 
He  had  started  at  one  college,  and  had  already  changed 
to  two  others.  Stories  of  his  dissipated  habits  and  reck- 
less extravagance  had  been  bruited  about.  Graciella 
knew  his  family  history,  and  had  imbibed  the  old- 
fashioned  notions  of  her  grandmother's  household,  so  that 
her  acknowledgment  of  the  introduction  was  somewhat 
cold,  not  to  say  distant.     But  as  she  felt  the  charm  of  his 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  183 

manner,  and  saw  that  the  other  girls  were  vieing  with  one 
another  for  his  notice,  she  felt  a  certain  triumph  that  he 
exhibited  a  marked  preference  for  her  conversation.  Her 
reserve  gradually  broke  down,  and  she  was  talking  with 
animation  and  listening  with  pleasure,  when  she  suddenly 
recollected  that  Colonel  French  would  probably  call,  and 
that  she  ought  to  be  there  to  entertain  him,  for  which  pur- 
pose she  had  dressed  herself  very  carefully.  He  had  not 
spoken  yet,  but  might  be  expected  to  speak  at  any  time; 
such  marked  attentions  as  his  could  have  but  one  meaning; 
and  for  several  days  she  had  had  a  premonition  that  before 
the  week  was  out  he  would  seek  to  know  his  fate;  and 
Graciella  meant  to  be  kind. 

Anticipating  this  event,  she  had  politely  but  pointedly 
discouraged  Ben  Dudley's  attentions,  until  Ben's  pride, 
of  which  he  had  plenty  in  reserve,  had  awaked  to  activity. 
At  their  last  meeting  he  had  demanded  a  definite  answer 
to  his  oft-repeated  question. 

"Graciella,"  he  had  said,  "are  you  going  to  marry  me? 
Yes  or  no.  I'll  not  be  played  with  any  longer.  You 
must  marry  me  for  myself,  or  not  at  all.     Yes  or  no." 

"Then  no,  Mr.  Dudley,"  she  had  replied  with  spirit, 
and  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  "  I  will  not  marry  you. 
I  will  never  marry  you,  not  if  I  should  die  an  old  maid." 

She  was  sorry  they  had  not  parted  friends,  but  she  was 
not  to  blame.  After  her  marriage,  she  would  avoid  the 
embarrassment  of  meeting  him,  by  making  the  colonel 
take  her  away.  Sometime  she  might,  through  her  hus- 
band, be  of  service  to  Ben,  and  thus  make  up,  in  part  at 
least,  for  his  disappointment. 

As  she  ran  up  through  the  garden  and  stepped  upon  the 
porch — her  slippers  were  thin  and  made  no  sound — she 
heard  Colonel  French's  voice  in  the  darkened  parlour. 
Some  unusual   intonation  struck  her,   and  she  moved, 


184  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

lightly  and  almost  mechanically  forward,  in  the  shadow, 
toward  a  point  where  she  could  see  through  the  window 
and  remain  screened  from  observation.  So  intense  was 
her  interest  in  what  she  heard,  that  she  stood  with  her 
hand  on  her  heart,  not  even  conscious  that  she  was  doing 
a  shameful  thing. 

Her  aunt  was  seated  and  Colonel  French  was  standing 
near  her.  An  open  Bible  lay  upon  the  table.  The 
colonel  had  taken  it  up  and  was  reading: 

"'Who  can  find  a  virtuous  woman?  For  her  price  is 
far  above  rubies.  The  heart  of  her  husband  doth  safely 
trust  in  her.  She  will  do  him  good  and  not  evil  all  the 
days  of  her  life.  Strength  and  honour  are  her  clothing, 
and  she  shall  rejoice  in  time  to  come.' 

"Laura,"  he  said,  "the  proverb  maker  was  a  prophet 
as  well.  In  these  words,  written  four  thousand  years  ago, 
he  has  described  you,  line  for  line." 

The  glow  which  warmed  her  cheek,  still  smooth,  the 
light  which  came  into  her  clear  eyes,  the  joy  that  filled 
her  heart  at  these  kind  words,  put  the  years  to  flight,  and 
for  the  moment  Laura  was  young  again. 

"You  have  been  good  to  Phil,"  the  colonel  went  on, 
"and  I  should  like  him  to  be  always  near  you  and  have 
your  care.  And  you  have  been  kind  to  me,  and  made  me 
welcome  and  at  home  in  what  might  otherwise  have 
seemed,  after  so  long  an  absence,  a  strange  land.  You 
bring  back  to  me  the  best  of  my  youth,  and  in  you  I  find 
the  inspiration  for  good  deeds.  Be  my  wife,  dear  Laura, 
and  a  mother  to  my  boy,  and  we  will  try  to  make  you 
happy." 

"Oh,  Henry,"  she  cried  with  fluttering  heart,  "I  am 
not  worthy  to  be  your  wife.  I  know  nothing  of  the  world 
where  you  have  lived,  nor  whether  I  would  fit  into  it." 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  185 

"You  are  worthy  of  any  place,"  he  declared,  "and 
if  one  please  you  more  than  another,  I  shall  make  your 
wishes  mine." 

"But,  Henry,  how  could  I  leave  my  mother?  And 
Graciella  needs  my  care." 

"You  need  not  leave  your  mother — she  shall  be  mine  as 
well  as  yours.  Graciella  is  a  dear,  bright  child;  she  has 
in  her  the  making  of  a  noble  woman;  she  should  be  sent 
away  to  a  good  school,  and  I  will  see  to  it.  No,  dear 
Laura,  there  are  no  difficulties,  no  giants  in  the  pathway 
that  will  not  fly  or  fall  when  we  confront  them." 

He  had  put  his  arm  around  her  and  lifted  her  face  to 
his.  He  read  his  answer  in  her  swimming  eyes,  and 
when  he  had  reached  down  and  kissed  her  cheek,  she 
buried  her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  shed  some  tears  of 
happiness.  For  this  was  her  secret:  she  was  sweet  and 
good;  she  would  have  made  any  man  happy,  who  had 
been  worthy  of  her,  but  no  man  had  ever  before  asked 
her  to  be  his  wife.  She  had  lived  upon  a  plane  so  simple, 
yet  so  high,  that  men  not  equally  high-minded  had  never 
ventured  to  address  her,  and  there  were  few  such  men, 
and  chance  had  not  led  them  her  way.  As  to  the  others — 
perhaps  there  were  women  more  beautiful,  and  certainly 
more  enterprising.  She  had  not  repined;  she  had  been 
busy  and  contented.  Now  this  great  happiness  was 
vouchsafed  her,  to  find  in  the  love  of  the  man  whom  she 
admired  above  all  others  a  woman's  true  career. 

"Henry,"  she  said,  when  they  had  sat  down  on  the  old 
hair-cloth  sofa,  side  by  side,  "you  have  made  me  very 
happy;  so  happy  that  I  wish  to  keep  my  happiness  all  to 
myself — for  a  little  while.  Will  you  let  me  keep  our  en- 
gagement secret  until  I — am  accustomed  to  it  ?  It  may  be 
silly  or  childish,  but  it  seems  like  a  happy  dream,  and  I  wish 
to  assure  myself  of  its  reality  before  I  tell  it  to  anyone  else." 


186  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

"To  me,"  said  the  colonel,  smiling  tenderly  into  her 
eyes,  "it  is  the  realisation  of  an  ideal.  Since  we  met  that 
day  in  the  cemetery  you  have  seemed  to  me  the  embodi- 
ment of  all  that  is  best  of  my  memories  of  the  old  South; 
and  your  gentleness,  your  kindness,  your  tender  grace, 
your  self-sacrifice  and  devotion  to  duty,  mark  you  a  queen 
among  women,  and  my  heart  shall  be  your  throne.  As 
to  the  announcement,  have  it  as  you  will — it  is  the  lady's 
privilege." 

"You  are  very  good,"  she  said  tremulously.  "This 
hour  repays  me  for  all  I  have  ever  tried  to  do  for  others." 

Graciella  felt  very  young  indeed — somewhere  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  ten,  she  put  it  afterward,  when  she 
reviewed  the  situation  in  a  calmer  frame  of  mind — as  she 
crept  softly  away  from  the  window  and  around  the  house 
to  the  back  door,  and  up  the  stairs  and  into  her  own 
chamber,  where,  all  oblivious  of  danger  to  her  clothes  or 
her  complexion,  she  threw  herself  down  upon  her  own 
bed  and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears.  She  had  been 
cruelly  humiliated.  Colonel  French,  whom  she  had 
imagined  in  love  with  her,  had  regarded  her  merely  as  a 
child,  who  ought  to  be  sent  to  school — to  acquire  what, 
she  asked  herself,  good  sense  or  deportment?  Perhaps 
she  might  acquire  more  good  sense — she  had  certainly 
made  a  fool  of  herself  in  this  case — but  she  had  prided 
herself  upon  her  manners.  Colonel  French  had  been 
merely  playing  with  her,  like  one  would  with  a  pet 
monkey;  and  he  had  been  in  love,  all  the  time,  with  her 
Aunt  Laura,  whom  the  girls  had  referred  to  compassion- 
ately, only  that  same  evening,  as  a  hopeless  old  maid. 

It  is  fortunate  that  youth  and  hope  go  generally  hand 
in  hand.  Graciella  possessed  a  buoyant  spirit  to  breast 
the  waves   of  disappointment.     She   had   her  cry   out, 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  187 

a  good,  long  cry;  and  when  much  weeping  had  dulled 
the  edge  of  her  discomfiture  she  began  to  reflect  that  all 
Was  not  yet  lost.  The  colonel  would  not  marry  her,  but 
he  would  still  marry  in  the  family.  When  her  Aunt 
Laura  became  Mrs.  French,  she  would  doubtless  go  often 
to  New  York,  if  she  would  not  live  there  always.  She 
would  invite  Graciella  to  go  with  her,  perhaps  to  live  with 
her  there.  As  for  going  to  school,  that  was  a  matter 
which  her  own  views  should  control;  at  present  she  had 
no  wish  to  return  to  school.  She  might  take  lessons  in 
music,  or  art;  her  aunt  would  hardly  care  for  her  to  learn 
stenography  now,  or  go  into  magazine  work.  Her  aunt 
would  surely  not  go  to  Europe  without  inviting  her, 
and  Colonel  French  was  very  liberal  with  his  money, 
and  would  deny  his  wife  nothing,  though  Graciella  could 
hardly  imagine  that  any  man  would  be  infatuated  with 
her  Aunt  Laura. 

But  this  was  not  the  end  of  Graciella's  troubles.  Gra- 
ciella had  a  heart,  although  she  had  suppressed  its  prompt- 
ings, under  the  influence  of  a  selfish  ambition.  She  had 
thrown  Ben  Dudley  over  for  the  colonel;  the  colonel  did 
not  want  her,  and  now  she  would  have  neither.  Ben 
had  been  very  angry,  unreasonably  angry,  she  had  thought 
at  the  time,  and  objectionably  rude  in  his  manner.  He 
had  sworn  never  to  speak  to  her  again.  If  he  should 
keep  his  word,  she  might  be  very  unhappy.  These  re- 
flections brought  on  another  rush  of  tears,  and  a  very 
penitent,  contrite,  humble-minded  young  woman  cried 
herself  to  sleep  before  Miss  Laura,  with  a  heart  bursting 
with  happiness,  bade  the  colonel  good-night  at  the  gate, 
and  went  upstairs  to  lie  awake  in  her  bed  in  a  turmoil 
of  pleasant  emotions. 

Miss  Laura's  happiness  lay  not  alone  in  the  prospect 
that  Colonel  French  would  marry  her,  nor  in  any  sordid 


188  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

thought  of  what  she  would  gain  by  becoming  the  wife  of  a 
rich  man.  It  rested  in  the  fact  that  this  man,  whom  she 
admired,  and  who  had  come  back  from  the  outer  world 
to  bring  fresh  ideas,  new  and  larger  ideals  to  lift  and 
broaden  and  revivify  the  town,  had  passed  by  youth  and 
beauty  and  vivacity,  and  had  chosen  her  to  share  this 
task,  to  form  the  heart  and  mind  and  manners  of  his 
child,  and  to  be  the  tie  which  would  bind  him  most  strongly 
to  her  dear  South.  For  she  was  a  true  child  of  the  soil; 
the  people  about  her,  white  and  black,  were  her  people, 
and  this  marriage,  with  its  larger  opportunities  for  useful- 
ness, would  help  her  to  do  that  for  which  hitherto  she  had 
only  been  able  to  pray  and  to  hope.  To  the  boy  she  would 
be  a  mother  indeed;  to  lead  him  in  the  paths  of  truth  and 
loyalty  and  manliness  and  the  fear  of  God — it  was  a 
priceless  privilege,  and  already  her  mother-heart  yearned 
to  begin  the  task. 

And  then  after  the  flow  came  the  ebb.  Why  had  he 
chosen  her?  Was  it  merely  as  an  abstraction — the 
embodiment  of  an  ideal,  a  survival  from  a  host  of  pleasant 
memories,  and  as  a  mother  for  his  child,  who  needed 
care  which  no  one  else  could  give,  and  as  a  helpmate  in 
carrying  out  his  schemes  of  benevolence?  Were  these 
his  only  motives;  and,  if  so,  were  they  sufficient  to  ensure 
her  happiness?  Was  he  marrying  her  through  a  mere 
sentimental  impulse,  or  for  calculated  convenience,  or 
from  both?  She  must  be  certain;  for  his  views  might 
change.  He  was  yet  in  the  full  flow  of  philanthropic 
enthusiasm.  She  shared  his  faith  in  human  nature  and 
the  triumph  of  right  ideas;  but  once  or  twice  she  had 
feared  he  was  underrating  the  power  of  conservative 
forces;  that  he  had  been  away  from  Clarendon  so  long 
as  to  lose  the  perspective  of  actual  conditions,  and  that 
he  was  cherishing  expectations  which  might  be  disap- 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  189 

pointed.  Should  this  ever  prove  true,  his  disillusion  might 
be  as  far-reaching  and  as  sudden  as  his  enthusiasm.  Then, 
if  he  had  not  loved  her  for  herself,  she  might  be  very 
unhappy.  She  would  have  rejoiced  to  bring  him  youth 
and  beauty,  and  the  things  for  which  other  women  were 
preferred;  she  would  have  loved  to  be  the  perfect  mate, 
one  in  heart,  mind,  soul  and  body,  with  the  man  with 
whom  she  was  to  share  the  journey  of  life. 

But  this  was  a  passing  thought,  born  of  weakness  and 
self-distrust,  and  she  brushed  it  away  with  the  tear  that 
had  come  with  it,  and  smiled  at  its  absurdity.  Her  youth 
was  past;  with  nothing  to  expect  but  an  old  age  filled  with 
the  small  expedients  of  genteel  poverty,  there  had  opened 
up  to  her,  suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  a  great  avenue 
for  happiness  and  usefulness.  It  was  foolish,  with  so 
much  to  be  grateful  for,  to  sigh  for  the  unattainable. 
His  love  must  be  all  the  stronger  since  it  took  no  thought 
of  things  which  others  would  have  found  of  controlling 
importance.  In  choosing  her  to  share  his  intellectual 
life  he  had  paid  her  a  higher  compliment  than  had  he 
praised  the  glow  of  her  cheek  or  the  contour  of  her  throat. 
In  confiding  Phil  to  her  care  he  had  given  her  a  sacred 
trust  and  confidence,  for  she  knew  how  much  he  loved 
the  child. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

The  colonel's  schemes  for  the  improvement  of  Clarendon 
went  forward,  with  occasional  setbacks.  Several  kilns  of 
brick  turned  out  badly,  so  that  the  brickyard  fell  behind 
with  its  orders,  thus  delaying  the  work  a  few  weeks.  The 
foundations  of  the  old  cotton  mill  had  been  substantially 
laid,  and  could  be  used,  so  far  as  their  position  permitted 
for  the  new  walls.  When  the  bricks  were  ready,  a  gang  of 
masons  was  put  to  work.  White  men  and  coloured 
were  employed,  under  a  white  foreman.  So  great  was 
the  demand  for  labour  and  so  stimulating  the  colonel's 
liberal  wage,  that  even  the  drowsy  Negroes  around  the 
market  house  were  all  at  work,  and  the  pigs  who  had 
slept  near  them  were  obliged  to  bestir  themselves  to  keep 
from  being  run  over  by  the  wagons  that  were  hauling 
brick  and  lime  and  lumber  through  the  streets.  Even 
the  cows  in  the  vacant  lot  between  the  post-office  and  the 
bank  occasionally  lifted  up  their  gentle  eyes  as  though 
wondering  what  strange  fever  possessed  the  two-legged 
creatures  around  them,  urging  them  to  such  unnatural 
activity. 

The  work  went  on  smoothly  for  a  week  or  two,  when 
the  colonel  had  some  words  with  Jim  Green,  the  white 
foreman  of  the  masons.  The  cause  of  the  dispute  was  not 
important,  but  the  colonel,  as  the  master,  insisted  that 
certain  work  should  be  done  in  a  certain  way.  Green 
wished  to  argue  the  point.  The  colonel  brought  the 
discussion  to  a  close  with  a  peremptory  command.  The 
foreman  took  offense,  declared  that  he  was  no  nigger  to 

190 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  191 

be  ordered  around,  and  quit.  The  colonel  promoted  to 
the  vacancy  George  Brown,  a  coloured  man,  who  was 
the  next  best  workman  in  the  gang. 

On  the  day  when  Brown  took  charge  of  the  job  the 
white  bricklayers,  of  whom  there  were  two  at  work,  laid 
down  their  tools. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  the  colonel,  when  they 
reported  for  their  pay.  "Aren't  you  satisfied  with  the 
wages?" 

"Yes,  we've  got  no  fault  to  find  with  the  wages." 

"Well?" 

"We  won't  work  under  George  Brown.  We  don't 
mind  working  with  niggers,  but  we  won't  work  under 
a  nigger." 

"I'm  sorry,  gentlemen,  but  I  must  hire  my  own  men. 
Here  is  your  money." 

They  would  have  preferred  to  argue  their  grievance, 
and  since  the  colonel  had  shut  off  discussion  they 
went  down  to  Clay  Jackson's  saloon  and  argued  the 
^ase  with  all  comers,  with  the  usual  distortion  attending 
one-sided  argument.  Jim  Green  had  been  superseded 
by  a  nigger — this  was  the  burden  of  their  grievance. 

Thus  came  the  thin  entering  wedge  that  was  to  separate 
the  colonel  from  a  measure  of  his  popularity.  There  had 
been  no  objection  to  the  colonel's  employing  Negroes,  no 
objection  to  his  helping  their  school — if  he  chose  to  waste 
his  money  that  way;  but  there  were  many  who  took  offense 
when  a  Negro  was  preferred  to  a  white  man. 

Through  Caxton  the  colonel  learned  of  this  criticism. 
The  colonel  showed  no  surprise,  and  no  annoyance,  but 
in  his  usual  good-humoured  way  replied : 

"We'll  go  right  along  and  pay  no  attention  to  him. 
There  were  only  two  white  men  in  the  gang,  and  they 
have  never  worked  under  the  Negro;  they  quit  as  soon 


192  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

as  I  promoted  him.  I  have  hired  many  men  in  my  time 
and  have  made  it  an  unvarying  rule  to  manage  my  own 
business  in  my  own  way.  If  anybody  says  anything  to 
you  about  it,  you  tell  them  just  that.  These  people  have 
got  to  learn  that  we  live  in  an  industrial  age,  and  success 
demands  of  an  employer  that  he  utilise  the  most  available 
labour.  After  Green  was  discharged,  George  Brown  was 
the  best  mason  left.  He  gets  more  work  out  of  the  men 
than  Green  did — even  in  the  old  slave  times  Negroes  made 
the  best  of  overseers;  they  knew  their  own  people  better 
than  white  men  could  and  got  more  out  of  them.  When 
the  mill  is  completed  it  will  give  employment  to  five  hun- 
dred white  women  and  fifty  white  men.  But  every  dog 
must  have  his  day,  so  give  the  Negro  his." 

The  colonel  attached  no  great  importance  to  the  incident; 
the  places  of  the  workmen  were  filled,  and  the  work  went 
forward.  He  knew  the  Southern  sensitiveness,  and 
viewed  it  with  a  good-natured  tolerance,  which,  however, 
stopped  at  injustice  to  himself  or  others.  The  very  root 
of  his  reform  was  involved  in  the  proposition  to  discharge 
a  competent  foreman  because  of  an  unreasonable  preju- 
dice. Matters  of  feeling  were  all  well  enough  in  some 
respects — no  one  valued  more  highly  than  the  colonel  the 
right  to  choose  his  own  associates — but  the  right  to  work 
and  to  do  one's  best  work,  was  fundamental,  as  was  the 
right  to  have  one's  work  done  by  those  who  could  do  it 
best.  Even  a  healthy  social  instinct  might  be  perverted 
into  an  unhealthy  and  unjust  prejudice;  most  things  evil 
were  the  perversion  of  good. 

The  feeling  with  which  the  colonel  thus  came  for  the 
first  time  directly  in  contact,  a  smouldering  fire  capable 
always  of  being  fanned  into  flame,  had  been  greatly  ex- 
cited by  the  political  campaign  which  began  about  the 
third    month    after  his  arrival  in  Clarendon.    An  am- 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  193 

bitious  politician  in  a  neighbouring  State  had  led  a  suc- 
cessful campaign  on  the  issue  of  Negro  disfranchisement. 
Plainly  unconstitutional,  it  was  declared  to  be  as  plainly 
necessary  for  the  preservation  of  the  white  race  and  white 
civilisation.  The  example  had  proved  contagious,  and 
Fetters  and  his  crowd,  who  dominated  their  State,  had 
raised  the  issue  there.  At  first  the  pronouncement  met 
with  slight  response.  The  sister  State  had  possessed 
a  Negro  majority,  which,  in  view  of  reconstruction  history 
was  theoretically  capable  of  injuring  the  State.  Such 
was  not  the  case  here.  The  State  had  survived  recon- 
struction with  small  injury.  White  supremacy  existed, 
in  the  main,  by  virtue  of  white  efficiency  as  compared  with 
efficiency  of  a  lower  grade;  there  had  been  places,  and 
instances,  where  other  methods  had  been  occasionally 
employed  to  suppress  the  Negro  vote,  but,  taken  as  a 
whole,  the  supremacy  of  the  white  man  was  secure.  No 
Negro  had  held  a  State  office  for  twenty  years.  In  Claren- 
don they  had  even  ceased  to  be  summoned  as  jurors,  and 
when  a  Negro  met  a  white  man,  he  gave  him  the  wall, 
even  if  it  were  necessary  to  take  the  gutter  to  do  so.  But 
this  was  not  enough;  this  supremacy  must  be  made  perma- 
nent. Negroes  must  be  taught  that  they  need  never  look 
for  any  different  state  of  things.  New  definitions  were 
given  to  old  words,  new  pictures  set  in  old  frames,  new 
wine  poured  into  old  bottles. 

"So  long,"  said  the  candidate  for  governor,  when  he 
spoke  at  Clarendon  during  the  canvass,  at  a  meeting  pre- 
sided over  by  the  editor  of  the  Anglo-Saxon,  "so  long  as 
one  Negro  votes  in  the  State,  so  long  are  we  face  to  face 
with  the  nightmare  of  Negro  domination.  For  example, 
suppose  a  difference  of  opinion  among  white  men  so  radical 
as  to  divide  their  vote  equally,  the  ballot  of  one  Negro 
would  determine  the  issue.    Can  such  a  possibility  be 


194  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

contemplated  without  a  shudder  ?  Our  duty  to  ourselves, 
to  our  children,  and  their  unborn  descendants,  and  to 
our  great  and  favoured  race,  impels  us  to  protest,  by 
word,  by  vote,  by  arms  if  need  be,  against  the  enforced 
equality  of  an  inferior  race.  Equality  anywhere,  means 
ultimately,  equality  everywhere.  Equality  at  the  polls 
means  social  equality;  social  equality  means  intermarriage 
and  corruption  of  blood,  and  degeneration  and  decay. 
What  gentleman  here  would  want  his  daughter  to  marry 
a  blubber-lipped,  cocoanut-headed,  kidney-footed,  etc., 
etc.,  nigger?" 

There  could  be  but  one  answer  to  the  question,  and  it 
came  in  thunders  of  applause.  Colonel  French  heard 
the  speech,  smiled  at  the  old  arguments,  but  felt  a  sudden 
gravity  at  the  deep-seated  feeling  which  they  evoked. 
He  remembered  hearing,  when  a  boy,  the  same  argu- 
ments. They  had  served  their  purpose  once  before, 
with  other  issues,  to  plunge  the  South  into  war  and 
consequent  disaster.  Had  the  lesson  been  in  vain?  He 
did  not  see  the  justice  nor  the  expediency  of  the  proposed 
anti-Negro  agitation.  But  he  was  not  in  politics,  and 
confined  his  protests  to  argument  with  his  friends,  who 
listened  but  were  not  convinced. 

Behind  closed  doors,  more  than  one  of  the  prominent 
citizens  admitted  that  the  campaign  was  all  wrong;  that 
the  issues  were  unjust  and  reactionary,  and  that  the 
best  interests  of  the  State  lay  in  uplifting  every  element 
of  the  people  rather  than  selecting  some  one  class  for 
discouragement  and  degradation,  and  that  the  white 
race  could  hold  its  own,  with  the  Negroes  or  against 
them,  in  any  conceivable  state  of  political  equality.  They 
listened  to  the  colonel's  quiet  argument  that  no  State 
could  be  freer  or  greater  or  more  enlightened  than  the 
average  of  its  citizenship,   and  that  any  restriction  of  '" 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  195 

rights  that  rested  upon  anything  but  impartial  justice, 
was  bound  to  re-act,  as  slavery  had  done,  upon  the  pros- 
perity and  progress  of  the  State.  They  listened,  which 
the  colonel  regarded  as  a  great  point  gained,  and  they 
agreed  in  part,  and  he  could  almost  understand  why  they 
let  their  feelings  govern  their  reason  and  their  judgment, 
and  said  no  word  to  prevent  an  unfair  and  unconstitutional 
scheme  from  going  forward  to  a  successful  issue.  He 
knew  that  for  a  white  man  to  declare,  in  such  a  com- 
munity, for  equal  rights  or  equal  justice  for  the  Negro,  or 
to  take  the  Negro's  side  in  any  case  where  the  race  issue 
was  raised,  was  to  court  social  ostracism  and  political 
death,  or,  if  the  feeling  provoked  were  strong  enough,  an 
even  more  complete  form  of  extinction. 

So  the  colonel  was  patient,  and  meant  to  be  prudent. 
His  own  arguments  avoided  the  stirring  up  of  prejudice,  and 
were  directed  to  the  higher  motives  and  deeper  principles 
which  underlie  society,  in  the  light  of  which  humanity  is 
more  than  race,  and  the  welfare  of  the  State  above  that 
of  any  man  or  set  of  men  within  it;  it  being  an  axiom  as 
true  in  statesmanship  as  in  mathematics,  that  the  whole 
is  greater  than  any  one  of  its  parts.  Content  to  await  the 
uplifting  power  of  industry  and  enlightenment,  and  su- 
premely confident  of  the  result,  the  colonel  went  serenely 
forward  in  his  work  of  sowing  that  others  might  reap. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

The  atmosphere  of  the  Treadwell  home  was  charged, 
for  the  next  few  days,  with  electric  currents.  Graciella 
knew  that  her  aunt  was  engaged  to  Colonel  French.  But 
she  had  not  waited,  the  night  before,  to  hear  her  aunt 
express  the  wish  that  the  engagement  should  be  kept  secret. 
She  was  therefore  bursting  with  information  of  which 
she  could  manifest  no  consciousness  without  confessing 
that  she  had  been  eavesdropping — a  thing  which  she 
knew  Miss  Laura  regarded  as  detestably  immoral.  She 
wondered  at  her  aunt's  silence.  Except  a  certain  subdued 
air  of  happiness  there  was  nothing  to  distinguish  Miss 
Laura's  calm  demeanor  from  that  of  any  other  day. 
Graciella  had  determined  upon  her  own  attitude  toward 
her  aunt.  She  would  kiss  her,  and  wish  her  happiness, 
and  give  no  sign  that  any  thought  of  Colonel  French 
had  ever  entered  her  own  mind.  But  this  little  drama, 
rehearsed  in  the  privacy  of  her  own  room,  went  unacted, 
since  the  curtain  did  not  rise  upon  the  stage. 

The  colonel  came  and  went  as  usual.  Some  dissimula- 
tion was  required  on  Graciella's  part  to  preserve  her  usual 
light-hearted  manner  toward  him.  She  may  have  been 
to  blame  in  taking  the  colonel's  attentions  as  intended  for 
herself;  she  would  not  soon  forgive  his  slighting  reference 
to  her.  In  his  eyes  she  had  been  only  a  child,  who  ought 
to  go  to  school.  He  had  been  good  enough  to  say  that  she 
had  the  making  of  a  fine  woman.  Thanks!  She  had 
had  a  lover  for  at  least  two  years,  and  a  proposal  of  mar- 
riage before  Colonel  French's  shadow  had  fallen  athwart 

196 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  197 

her  life.  She  wished  her  Aunt  Laura  happiness;  no  one 
could  deserve  it  more,  but  was  it  possible  to  be  happy  with 
a  man  so  lacking  in  taste  and  judgment  ? 

Her  aunt's  secret  began  to  weigh  upon  her  mind,  and 
she  effaced  herself  as  much  as  possible  when  the  colonel 
came.  Her  grandmother  had  begun  to  notice  this  and 
comment  upon  it,  when  the  happening  of  a  certain  social 
event  created  a  diversion.  This  was  the  annual  enter- 
tainment known  as  the  Assembly  Ball.  It  was  usually 
held  later  in  the  year,  but  owing  to  the  presence  of  several 
young  lady  visitors  in  the  town,  it  had  been  decided  to 
give  it  early  in  the  fall. 

The  affair  was  in  the  hands  of  a  committee,  by  whom 
invitations  were  sent  to  most  people  in  the  county  who  had 
any  claims  to  gentility.  The  gentlemen  accepting  were 
expected  to  subscribe  to  the  funds  for  hall  rent,  music  and 
refreshments.  These  were  always  the  best  the  town 
afforded.  The  ball  was  held  in  the  Opera  House,  a 
rather  euphemistic  title  for  the  large  hall  above  Bar- 
stow's  cotton  warehouse,  where  third-class  theatrical 
companies  played  one-night  stands  several  times  during 
the  winter,  and  where  an  occasional  lecturer  or  conjurer 
held  forth.  An  amateur  performance  of  "Pinafore  "  had 
once  been  given  there.  Henry  W.  Grady  had  lectured 
there  upon  White  Supremacy;  the  Reverend  Sam  Small 
had  preached  there  on  Hell.  It  was  also  distinguished 
as  having  been  refused,  even  at  the  request  of  the  State 
Commissioner  of  Education,  as  a  place  for  Booker  T. 
Washington  to  deliver  an  address,  which  had  been  given 
at  the  town  hall  instead.  The  Assembly  Balls  had  always 
been  held  in  the  Opera  House.  In  former  years  the  music 
had  been  furnished  by  local  Negro  musicians,  but  there 
were  no  longer  any  of  these,  and  a  band  of  string  music  was 
brought  in  from  another  town.    So  far  as  mere  wealth  was 


198  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

concerned,  the  subscribers  touched  such  extremes  as  Ben 
Dudley  on  the  one  hand  and  Colonel  French  on  the  other, 
and  included  Barclay  Fetters,  whom  Graciella  had  met  on 
the  evening  before  her  disappointment. 

The  Tread  well  ladies  were  of  course  invited,  and  the 
question  of  ways  and  means  became  paramount.  New 
gowns  and  other  accessories  were  imperative.  Miss 
Laura's  one  party  dress  had  done  service  until  it  was  past 
redemption,  and  this  was  Graciella's  first  Assembly  Ball. 
Miss  Laura  took  stock  of  the  family's  resources,  and  found 
that  she  could  afford  only  one  gown.  This,  of  course, 
must  be  Graciella's.  Her  own  marriage  would  entail  cer- 
tain expenses  which  demanded  some  present  self-denial. 
She  had  played  wall-flower  for  several  years,  but  now  that 
she  was  sure  of  a  partner,  it  was  a  real  sacrifice  not  to 
attend  the  ball.  But  Graciella  was  young,  and  in  such 
matters  youth  has  a  prior  right ;  for  she  had  yet  to  find  her 
mate. 

Graciella  magnanimously  offered  to  remain  at  home, 
but  was  easily  prevailed  upon  to  go.  She  was  not  entirely 
happy,  for  the  humiliating  failure  of  her  hopes  had  left 
her  for  the  moment  without  a  recognised  admirer,  and  the 
fear  of  old  maidenhood  had  again  laid  hold  of  her  heart. 
Her  Aunt  Laura's  case  was  no  consoling  example.  Not 
one  man  in  a  hundred  would  choose  a  wife  for  Colonel 
French's  reasons.  Most  men  married  for  beauty,  and 
Graciella  had  been  told  that  beauty. that  matured  early, 
like  her  own,  was  likely  to  fade  early. 

One  humiliation  she  was  spared.  She  had  been  as 
silent  about  her  hopes  as  Miss  Laura  was  about  her  engage- 
ment. Whether  this  was  due  to  mere  prudence  or  to 
vanity — the  hope  of  astonishing  her  little  world  by  the 
unexpected  announcement — did  not  change  the  comfort- 
ing fact  that  she  had  nothing  to  explain  and  nothing  for 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  199 

which  to  be  pitied.  If  her  friends,  after  the  manner  of 
young  ladies,  had  hinted  at  the  subject  and  sought  to  find 
a  meaning  in  Colonel  French's  friendship,  she  had  smiled 
enigmatically.  For  this  self-restraint,  whatever  had  been 
its  motive,  she  now  reaped  her  reward.  The  announce- 
ment of  her  aunt's  engagement  would  account  for  the 
colonel's  attentions  to  Graciella  as  a  mere  courtesy  to  a 
young  relative  of  his  adanced. 

With  regard  to  Ben,  Graciella  was  quite  uneasy.  She 
had  met  him  only  once  since  their  quarrel,  and  had  meant 
to  bow  to  him  politely,  but  with  dignity,  to  show  that  she 
bore  no  malice;  but  he  had  ostentatiously  avoided  her 
glance.  If  he  chose  to  be  ill-natured,  she  had  thought, 
and  preferred  her  enmity  to  her  friendship,  her  conscience 
was  at  least  clear.  She  had  been  willing  to  forget  his  rude- 
ness and  be  a  friend  to  him.  She  could  have  been  his  true 
friend,  if  nothing  more;  and  he  would  need  friends,  unless 
he  changed  a  great  deal. 

When  her  mental  atmosphere  was  cleared  by  the  fading 
of  her  dream,  Ben  assumed  larger  proportions.  Perhaps 
he  had  had  cause  for  complaint;  at  least  it  was  only 
just  to  admit  that  he  thought  so.  Nor  had  he  suffered 
in  her  estimation  by  his  display  of  spirit  in  not  waiting  to 
be  jilted  but  in  forcing  her  hand  before  she  was  quite 
ready  to  play  it.  She  could  scarcely  expect  him  to  attend 
her  to  the  ball;  but  he  was  among  the  subscribers,  and 
could  hardly  avoid  meeting  her,  or  dancing  with  her, 
without  pointed  rudeness.  If  he  did  not  ask  her  to  dance, 
then  either  the  Virginia  reel,  or  the  lancers,  or  quadrilles, 
would  surely  bring  them  together;  and  though  Graciella 
sighed,  she  did  not  despair.  She  could,  of  course,  allay 
his  jealousy  at  once  by  telling  him  of  her  Aunt  Laura's 
engagement,  but  this  was  not  yet  practicable.  She  must 
find  some  other  way  of  placating  him. 


200  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

Ben  Dudley  also  had  a  problem  to  face  in  reference  to 
the  ball — a  problem  which  has  troubled  impecunious  youth 
since  balls  were  invented — the  problem  of  clothes.  He 
was  not  obliged  to  go  to  the  ball.  Graciella's  outrageous 
conduct  relieved  him  of  any  obligation  to  invite  her,  and 
there  was  no  other  woman  with  whom  he  would  have 
cared  to  ^o,  or  who  would  have  cared,  so  far  as  he  knew, 
to  go  with  him.  For  he  was  not  a  lady's  man,  and  but  for 
his  distant  relationship  would  probably  never  have  gone 
to  the  Treadwells'.  He  was  looked  upon  by  young  women 
as  slow,  and  he  knew  that  Graciella  had  often  been  im- 
patient at  his  lack  of  sprightliness.  He  could  pay  his 
subscription,  which  was  really  a  sort  of  gentility  tax,  the 
failure  to  meet  which  would  merely  forfeit  future  invitations, 
and  remain  at  home.  He  did  not  own  a  dress  suit,  nor 
had  he  the  money  to  spare  for  one.  He,  or  they,  for  he 
and  his  uncle  were  one  in  such  matters,  were  in  debt 
already,  up  to  the  limit  of  their  credit,  and  he  had  sold  the 
last  bale  of  old  cotton  to  pay  the  last  month's  expenses, 
while  the  new  crop,  already  partly  mortgaged,  was  not 
yet  picked.  He  knew  that  some  young  fellows  in  town 
rented  dress  suits  from  Solomon  Cohen,  who,  though 
he  kept  only  four  suits  in  stock  at  a  time,  would  send 
to  New  York  for  others  to  rent  out  on  this  occasion, 
and  return  them  afterwards.  But  Ben  would  not 
wear  another  man's  clothes.  He  had  borne  insults 
from  Graciella  that  he  never  would  have  borne  from 
any  one  else,  and  that  he  would  never  bear  again; 
but  there  were  things  at  which  his  soul  protested. 
Nor  would  Cohen's  suits  have  fitted  him.  He  was  so 
much  taller  than  the  average  man  for  whom  store 
clothes  were  made. 

He  remained  in  a  state  of  indecision  until  the  day  of  the 
ball.     Late  in  the  evening  he  put  on  his  black  cutaway 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  201 

coat,  which  was  getting  a  little  small,  trousers  to  match, 
and  a  white  waistcoat,  and  started  to  town  on  horseback 
so  as  to  arrive  in  time  for  the  ball,  in  case  he  should  decide, 
at  the  last  moment,  to  take  part. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

The  Opera  House  was  brilliantly  lighted  on  the  night 
of  the  Assembly  Ball.  The  dancers  gathered  at  an  earlier 
hour  than  is  the  rule  in  the  large  cities.  Many  of  the 
guests  came  in  from  the  country,  and  returned  home 
after  the  ball,  since  the  hotel  could  accommodate  only  a 
part  of  them. 

When  Ben  Dudley,  having  left  his  horse  at  a  livery 
stable,  walked  up  Main  Street  toward  the  hall,  carriages 
were  arriving  and  discharging  their  freight.  The  ladies 
were  prettily  gowned,  their  faces  were  bright  and  ani- 
mated, and  Ben  observed  that  most  of  the  gentlemen  wore 
dress  suits;  but  also,  much  to  his  relief,  that  a  number, 
sufficient  to  make  at  least  a  respectable  minority,  did  not. 
He  was  rapidly  making  up  his  mind  to  enter,  when  Colonel 
French's  carriage,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  dashing  bays  and 
driven  by  a  Negro  in  livery,  dashed  up  to  the  door  and 
discharged  Miss  Graciella  Treadwell,  radiantly  beauti- 
ful in  a  new  low-cut  pink  gown,  with  pink  flowers  in 
her  hair,  a  thin  gold  chain  with  a  gold  locket  at  the 
end  around  her  slender  throat,  white  slippers  on  her 
feet  and  long  white  gloves  upon  her  shapely  hands 
and  wrists. 

Ben  shrank  back  into  the  shadow.  He  had  never  been 
of  an  envious  disposition;  he  had  always  looked  upon 
envy  as  a  mean  vice,  unworthy  of  a  gentleman ;  but  for  a 
moment  something  very  like  envy  pulled  at  his  heartstrings. 
Graciella  worshipped  the  golden  calf.  He  worshipped 
Graciella.     But  he  had  no  money;  he  could  not  have  taken 

202 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  203 

her  to  the  ball  in  a  closed  carriage,  drawn  by  blooded 
horses  and  driven  by  a  darky  in  livery. 

Graciella's  cavalier  wore,  with  the  ease  and  grace  of 
long  habit,  an  evening  suit  of  some  fine  black  stuff  that 
almost  shone  in  the  light  from  the  open  door.  At  the 
sight  of  him  the  waist  of  Ben's  own  coat  shrunk  up  to  the 
arm-pits,  and  he  felt  a  sinking  of  the  heart  as  they  passed 
out  of  his  range  of  vision.  He  would  not  appear  to  advan- 
tage by  the  side  of  Colonel  French,  and  he  would  not  care 
to  appear  otherwise  than  to  advantage  in  Graciella's  eyes. 
He  would  not  like  to  make  more  palpable,  by  contrast,  the 
difference  between  Colonel  French  and  himself;  nor  could 
he  be  haughty,  distant,  reproachful,  or  anything  but 
painfully  self-conscious,  in  a  coat  that  was  not  of  the 
proper  cut,  too  short  in  the  sleeves,  and  too  tight  under 
the  arms. 

While  he  stood  thus  communing  with  his  own  bitter 
thoughts,  another  carriage,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  beautiful 
black  horses,  drew  up  to  the  curb  in  front  of  him.  The 
horses  were  restive,  and  not  inclined  to  stand  still.  Some 
one  from  the  inside  of  the  carriage  called  to  the  coachman 
through  the  open  window. 

"Ransom,"  said  the  voice,  "stay  on  the  box.  Here, 
you,  open  this  carriage  door!" 

Ben  looked  around  for  the  person  addressed,  but  saw 
no  one  near  but  himself. 

"You  boy  there,  by  the  curb,  open  this  door,  will  you, 
or  hold  the  horses,  so  my  coachman  can!" 

"Are  you  speaking  to  me?"  demanded  Ben  angrily. 

Just  then  one  of  the  side-lights  of  the  carriage  flashed 
on  Ben's  face. 

"Oh,  I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  man  in  the  carriage,  care- 
lessly, "I  took  you  for  a  nigger." 

There  could  be  no  more  deadly  insult,  though  the  mis- 


204  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

take  was  not  unnatural.  Ben  was  dark,  and  the  shadow 
made  him  darker. 

Ben  was  furious.  The  stranger  had  uttered  words  of 
apology,  but  his  tone  had  been  insolent,  and  his  apology 
was  more  offensive  than  his  original  blunder.  Had  it  not 
been  for  Ben's  reluctance  to  make  a  disturbance,  he  would 
have  struck  the  offender  in  the  mouth.  If  he  had  had  a 
pistol,  he  could  have  shot  him;  his  great  uncle  Ralph,  for 
instance,  would  not  have  let  him  live  an  hour. 

While  these  thoughts  were  surging  through  his  heated 
brain,  the  young  man,  as  immaculately  clad  as  Colonel 
French  had  been,  left  the  carriage,  from  which  he  helped 
a  lady,  and  with  her  upon  his  arm,  entered  the  hall.  In 
the  light  that  streamed  from  the  doorway,  Ben  recognised 
him  as  Barclay  Fetters,  who,  having  finished  a  checkered 
scholastic  career,  had  been  at  home  at  Sycamore  for 
several  months.  Much  of  this  time  he  had  spent  in 
Clarendon,  where  his  father's  wealth  and  influence  gave 
him  entrance  to  good  society,  in  spite  of  an  ancestry  which 
mere  character  would  not  have  offset.  He  knew  young 
Fetters  very  well  by  sight,  since  the  latter  had  to  pass 
Mink  Run  whenever  he  came  to  town  from  Sycamore. 
Fetters  may  not  have  known  him,  since  he  had  been  away 
for  much  of  the  time  in  recent  years,  but  he  ought  to 
have  been  able  to  distinguish  between  a  white  man — a 
gentleman — and  a  Negro.  It  was  the  insolence  of  an 
upstart.  Old  Josh  Fetters  had  been,  in  his  younger  days, 
his  uncle's  overseer.  An  overseer's  grandson  treated  him, 
Ben  Dudley,  like  dirt  under  his  feet!  Perhaps  he  had 
judged  him  by  his  clothes.  He  would  like  to  show  Bar- 
clay Fetters,  if  they  ever  stood  face  to  face,  that  clothes 
did  not  make  the  man,  nor  the  gentleman. 

Ben  decided  after  this  encounter  that  he  would  not  go 
on  the  floor  of  the  ballroom;  but  unable  to  tear  himself 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  205 

away,  he  waited  until  everybody  seemed  to  have  gone  in; 
then  went  up  the  stairs  and  gained  access,  by  a  back  way, 
to  a  dark  gallery  in  the  rear  of  the  hall,  which  the  ushers 
had  deserted  for  the  ballroom,  from  which  he  could,  with- 
out discovery,  look  down  upon  the  scene  below.  His 
eyes  flew  to  Graciella  as  the  needle  to  the  pole.  She  was 
dancing  with  Colonel  French. 

The  music  stopped,  and  a  crowd  of  young  fellows  sur- 
rounded her.  When  the  next  dance,  which  was  a  waltz, 
began,  she  moved  out  upon  the  floor  in  the  arms  of  Barclay 
Fetters. 

Ben  swore  beneath  his  breath.  He  had  heard  tales  of 
Barclay  Fetters  which,  if  true,  made  him  unfit  to  touch  a 
decent  woman.  He  left  the  hall,  walked  a  short  distance 
down  a  street  and  around  the  corner  to  the  bar  in  the  rear 
of  the  hotel,  where  he  ordered  a  glass  of  whiskey.  He 
had  never  been  drunk  in  his  life,  and  detested  the  taste  of 
liquor;  but  he  was  desperate  and  had  to  do  something;  he 
would  drink  till  he  was  drunk,  and  forget  his  troubles. 
Having  never  been  intoxicated,  he  had  no  idea  whatever 
of  the  effect  liquor  would  have  upon  him. 

With  each  succeeding  drink,  the  sense  of  his  wrongs 
broadened  and  deepened.  At  one  stage  his  intoxication 
took  the  form  of  an  intense  self-pity.  There  was  some- 
thing rotten  in  the  whole  scheme  of  things.  Why  should 
he  be  poor,  while  others  were  rich,  and  while  fifty  thousand 
dollars  in  gold  were  hidden  in  or  around  the  house  where 
he  lived  ?  Why  should  Colonel  French,  an  old  man,  who 
was  of  no  better  blood  than  himself,  be  rich  enough  to  rob 
him  of  the  woman  whom  he  loved  ?  And  why,  above  all, 
should  Barclay  Fetters  have  education  and  money  and 
every  kind  of  opportunity,  which  he  did  not  appreciate, 
while  he,  who  would  have  made  good  use  of  them,  had 
nothing?    With  this  sense  of  wrong,  which  grew  as  his 


206  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

brain  clouded  more  and  more,  there  came,  side  by  side,  a 
vague  zeal  to  right  these  wrongs.  As  he  grew  drunker 
still,  his  thoughts  grew  less  coherent;  he  lost  sight  of  his 
special  grievance,  and  merely  retained  the  combative 
instinct. 

He  had  reached  this  dangerous  stage,  and  had,  fortu- 
nately, passed  it  one  step  farther  along  the  road  to  uncon- 
sciousness— fortunately,  because  had  he  been  sober,  the 
result  of  that  which  was  to  follow  might  have  been  more 
serious — when  two  young  men,  who  had  come  down  from 
the  ballroom  for  some  refreshment  entered  the  barroom 
and  asked  for  cocktails.  While  the  barkeeper  was  com- 
pounding the  liquor,  the  young  men  spoke  of  the  ball. 

"That  little  Treadwell  girl  is  a  peach,"  said  one.  "I 
could  tote  a  bunch  of  beauty  like  that  around  the  ball- 
room all  night." 

The  remark  was  not  exactly  respectful,  nor  yet  exactly 
disrespectful.  Ben  looked  up  from  his  seat.  The  speaker 
was  Barclay  Fetters,  and  his  companion  one  Tom  McRae, 
another  dissolute  young  man  of  the  town.  Ben  got  up 
unsteadily  and  walked  over  to  where  they  stood. 

"I  want  you  to  un'erstan',"  he  said  thickly,  "that  no 
genTman  would  mensh'n  a  lady's  name  in  a  place  like 
this,  or  shpeak  dissuspeckerly  'bout  a  lady  'n  any  place; 
an'  I  want  you  to  unerstan'  fu'thermo'  that  you're  no 
gen'l'man,  an'  that  I'm  goin'  t'  lick  you,  by  G — d ! " 

"The  hell  you  are!"  returned  Fetters.  A  scowl  of  sur- 
prise rose  on  his  handsome  face,  and  he  sprang  to  an  atti- 
tude of  defence. 

Ben  suited  the  action  to  the  word,  and  struck  at  Fetters. 
But  Ben  was  drunk  and  the  other  two  were  sober,  and  in 
three  minutes  Ben  lay  on  the  floor  with  a  sore  head  and  a 
black  eye.  His  nose  was  bleeding  copiously,  and  the 
crimson  stream  had  run  down  upon  his  white  shirt  and 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  207 

vest.  Taken  all  in  all,  his  appearance  was  most  dis- 
reputable. By  this  time  the  liquor  he  had  drunk  had  its 
full  effect,  and  complete  unconsciousness  supervened  to 
save  him,  for  a  little  while,  from  the  realisation  of  his  dis- 
grace. 

"Who  is  the  mucker,  anyway?"  asked  Barclay  Fetters, 
readjusting  his  cuffs,  which  had  slipped  down  in  the  melee. 

"He's  a  chap  by  the  name  of  Dudley,"  answered  McRae; 
"lives  at  Mink  Run,  between  here  and  Sycamore,  you 
know." 

"Oh,  yes,  I've  seen  him — the  'po'  white'  chap  that  lives 
with  the  old  lunatic  that's  always  digging  for  buried 
treasure 

'For  my  name  was  Captain  Kidd, 
As  I  sailed,  as  I  sailed.' 

But  let's  hurry  back,  Tom,  or  we'll  lose  the  next  dance." 

Fetters  and  his  companion  returned  to  the  ball.  The 
barkeeper  called  a  servant  of  the  hotel,  with  whose  aid, 
Ben  was  carried  upstairs  and  put  to  bed,  bruised  in  body 
and  damaged  in  reputation. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Ben's  fight  with  young  Fetters  became  a  matter  of  public 
comment  the  next  day  after  the  ball.  His  conduct  was 
cited  as  sad  proof  of  the  degeneracy  of  a  once  fine  old 
family.  He  had  been  considered  shiftless  and  not  well 
educated,  but  no  one  had  suspected  that  he  was  a  drunkard 
and  a  rowdy.  Other  young  men  in  the  town,  high- 
spirited  young  fellows  with  plenty  of  money,  sometimes 
drank  a  little  too  much,  and  occasionally,  for  a  point  of 
honour,  gentlemen  were  obliged  to  attack  or  defend  them- 
selves, but  when  they  did,  they  used  pistols,  a  gentleman's 
weapon.  Here,  however,  was  an  unprovoked  and  brutal 
attack  with  fists,  upon  two  gentlemen  in  evening  dress  and 
without  weapons  to  defend  themselves,  "one  of  them," 
said  the  Anglo-Saxon,  "the  son  of  our  distinguished  fellow 
citizen  and  colleague  in  the  legislature,  the  Honourable 
William  Fetters." 

When  Colonel  French  called  to  see  Miss  Laura,  the  after- 
noon of  next  day  after  the  ball,  the  ladies  were  much  con- 
cerned about  the  affair. 

"Oh,  Henry,"  exclaimed  Miss  Laura,  "what  is  this 
dreadful  story  about  Ben  Dudley?  They  say  he  was 
drinking  at  the  hotel,  and  became  intoxicated,  and  that 
when  Barclay  Fetters  and  Tom  McRae  went  into  the 
hotel,  he  said  something  insulting  about  Graciella,  and 
when  they  rebuked  him  for  his  freedom  he  attacked  them 
violently,  and  that  when  finally  subdued  he  was  put  to 
bed  unconscious  and  disgracefully  intoxicated.  Graciella 
is  very  angry,  and  we  all  feel  ashamed  enough  to  sink  into 

208 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  209 

the  ground.  What  can  be  the  matter  with  Ben?  He 
hasn't  been  around  lately,  and  he  has  quarrelled  with 
Graciella.  I  never  would  have  expected  anything  like 
this  from  Ben." 

"  It  came  from  his  great-uncle  Ralph,"  said  Mrs.  Tread- 
well.  "Ralph  was  very  wild  when  he  was  young,  but 
settled  down  into  a  very  polished  gentleman.  I  danced 
with  him  once  when  he  was  drunk,  and  I  never  knew  it — 
it  was  my  first  ball,  and  I  was  intoxicated  myself,  with 
excitement.  Mother  was  scandalised,  but  father  laughed 
and  said  boys  would  be  boys.  But  poor  Ben  hasn't  had 
his  uncle's  chances,  and  while  he  has  always  behaved  well 
here,  he  could  hardly  be  expected  to  carry  his  liquor  like  a 
gentleman  of  the  old  school." 

"My  dear  ladies,"  said  the  colonel,  "we  have  heard  only 
one  side  of  the  story.  I  guess  there's  no  doubt  Ben  was 
intoxicated,  but  we  know  he  isn't  a  drinking  man,  and  one 
drink — or  even  one  drunk — doesn't  make  a  drunkard,  nor 
one  fight  a  rowdy.  Barclay  Fetters  and  Tom  McRae  are 
not  immaculate,  and  perhaps  Ben  can  exonerate  himself." 

"I  certainly  hope  so,"  said  Miss  Laura  earnestly.  "I 
am  sorry  for  Ben,  but  I  could  not  permit  a  drunken  rowdy 
to  come  to  the  house,  or  let  my  niece  be  seen  upon  the 
street  with  him." 

"It  would  only  be  fair,"  said  the  colonel,  "to  give  him 
a  chance  to  explain,  when  he  comes  in  again.  I  rather 
like  Ben.  He  has  some  fine  mechanical  ideas,  and  the 
making  of  a  man  in  him,  unless  I  am  mistaken.  I  have 
been  hoping  to  find  a  place  for  him  in  the  new  cotton  mill, 
when  it  is  ready  to  run." 

They  were  still  speaking  of  Ben,  when  there  was  an 
irresolute  knock  at  the  rear  door  of  the  parlour,  in  which 
they  were  seated. 

"Miss  Laura,  O  Miss  Laura,"  came  a  muffled  voice. 


210  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

"Kin  I  speak  to  you  a  minute.    It's  mighty  pertickler, 
Miss  Laura,  fo'  God  it  is ! " 

"Laura,"  said  the  colonel,  "bring  Catharine  in.  I  saw 
that  you  were  troubled  once  before  when  you  were  com- 
pelled to  refuse  her  something.  Henceforth  your  burdens 
shall  be  mine.  Come  in,  Catharine,"  he  called,  "and 
tell  us  what's  the  matter.  What's  your  trouble  ?  What's 
it  all  about?" 

The  woman,  red-eyed  from  weeping,  came  in,  wringing 
her  apron. 

"Miss  Laura,"  she  sobbed,  "an'  Colonel  French,  my 
husban'  Bud  is  done  gone  and  got  inter  mo'  trouble.  He's 
run  away  f 'm  Mistah  Fettuhs,  w'at  he  wuz  sol'  back  to  in  de 
spring,  an'  he's  done  be'n  fine'  fifty  dollahs  mo',  an'  he's 
gwine  ter  be  sol'  back  ter  Mistah  Fettuhs  in  de  mawnin', 
fer  ter  finish  out  de  ole  fine  and  wo'k  out  de  new  one.  I's 
be'n  ter  see  'im  in  de  gyard  house,  an'  he  say  Mistah 
Haines,  w'at  use'  ter  be  de  constable  and  is  a  gyard  fer 
Mistah  Fettuhs  now,  beat  an'  'bused  him  so  he  couldn* 
stan'  it;  an'  'ceptin'  I  could  pay  all  dem  fines,  he'll  be 
tuck  back  dere;  an'  he  say  ef  dey  evah  beats  him  ag'in, 
dey'll  eithuh  haf  ter  kill  him,  er  he'll  kill  some  er  dem. 
An'  Bud  is  a  rash  man,  Miss  Laura,  an'  I'm  feared  dat  he'll 
do  w'at  he  say,  an'  ef  dey  kills  him  er  he  kills  any  er  dem, 
it'll  be  all  de  same  ter  me — I'll  never  see  'm  no  mo'  in  dis 
worP.  Ef  I  could  borry  de  money,  Miss  Laura — Mars' 
Colonel — I'd  wuk  my  fingers  ter  de  bone  'tel  I  paid  back 
de  las'  cent.  Er  ef  you'd  buy  Bud,  suh,  lack  you  did  Unc' 
Peter,  he  would  n'  mind  wukkin'  fer  you,  suh,  fer  Bud  is 
a  good  wukker  we'n  folks  treats  him  right;  an'  he  had  n* 
never  had  no  trouble  nowhar  befo'  he  come  hyuh,  suh." 

"How  did  he  come  to  be  arrested  the  first  time?" 
asked  the  colonel. 

"He  didn't  live  hyuh,  suh;  I  used  ter  live  hyuh,  an'  I 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  211 

ma'ied  him  down  ter  Madison,  where  I  wuz  wukkin'.  We 
fell  out  one  day,  an'  I  got  mad  and  lef  'im — it  wuz  all  my 
fault  an'  I  be'n  payin'  fer  it  evuh  since — an'  I  come  back 
home  an'  went  ter  wuk  hyuh,  an'  he  come  aftuh  me,  an 
de  fus'  day  he  come,  befo'  I  knowed  he  wuz  hyuh,  dis  yer 
Mistah  Haines  tuck  'im  up,  an'  lock  'im  up  in  de  gyard 
house,  like  a  hog  in  de  poun',  an'  he  didn'  know  nobody, 
an'  dey  didn'  give  'im  no  chanst  ter  see  nobody,  an'  dey 
tuck  'im  roun'  ter  Squi'  Reddick  nex'  mawnin',  an'  fined 
'im  an'  sol'  'im  ter  dis  yer  Mistuh  Fettuhs  fer  ter  wo'k 
out  de  fine;  an'  I  be'n  wan  tin'  all  dis  time  ter  hyuh  fum 
'im,  an'  I'd  done  be'n  an'  gone  back  ter  Madison  to  look 
fer  'im,  an'  foun'  he  wuz  gone.  An'  God  knows  I  didn* 
know  what  had  become  er  'im,  'tel  he  run  away  de  yuther 
time  an'  dey  tuck  'im  an'  sent  'im  back  again.  An'  he 
hadn'  done  nothin'  de  fus'  time,  suh,  but  de  Lawd  know 
w'at  he  won'  do  ef  dey  sen's  'im  back  any  mo'." 

Catharine  had  put  her  apron  to  her  eyes  and  was  sob- 
bing bitterly.  The  story  was  probably  true.  The  colonel 
had  heard  underground  rumours  about  the  Fetters  plan- 
tation and  the  manner  in  which  it  was  supplied  with 
labourers,  and  his  own  experience  in  old  Peter's  case, 
had  made  them  seem  not  unlikely.  He  had  seen  Cath- 
arine's husband,  in  the  justice's  court,  and  the  next  day, 
in  the  convict  gang  behind  Turner's  buggy.  The  man 
had  not  iooked  like  a  criminal ;  that  he  was  surly  and  des- 
perate may  as  well  have  been  due  to  a  sense  of  rank 
injustice  as  to  an  evil  nature.  That  a  wrong  had  been 
done,  under  cover  of  law,  was  at  least  more  than  likely; 
but  a  deed  of  mercy  could  be  made  to  right  it.  The  love 
of  money  might  be  the  root  of  all  evil,  but  its  control  was 
certainly  a  means  of  great  good.  The  colonel  glowed 
with  the  consciousness  of  this  beneficent  power  to  scatter 
happiness. 


212  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

"Laura,"  he  said,  "I  will  attend  to  this;  it  is  a  matter 
about  which  you  should  not  be  troubled.  Don't  be 
alarmed,  Catharine.  Just  be  a  good  girl  and  help  Miss 
Laura  all  you  can,  and  I'll  look  after  your  husband,  and 
pay  his  fine  and  let  him  work  it  out  as  a  free  man." 

"Thank'y,  suh,  thank'y,  Mars'  Colonel,  an'  Miss 
Laura!  An'  de  Lawd  is  gwine  bless  you,  suh,  you  an' 
my  sweet  young  lady,  fuh  bein'  good  to  po'  folks  w'at 
can't  do  nuthin'  to  he'p  deyse'ves  out  er  trouble,"  said 
Catharine  backing  out  with  her  apron  to  her  eyes. 

On  leaving  Miss  Laura,  the  colonel  went  round  to  the 
office  of  Squire  Reddick,  the  justice  of  the  peace,  to 
inquire  into  the  matter  of  Bud  Johnson.  The  justice  was 
out  of  town,  his  clerk  said,  but  would  be  in  his  office  at 
nine  in  the  morning,  at  which  time  the  colonel  could 
speak  to  him  about  Johnson's  fine. 

The  next  morning  was  bright  and  clear,  and  cool 
enough  to  be  bracing.  The  colonel,  alive  with  pleasant 
thoughts,  rose  early  and  after  a  cold  bath,  and  a  leisurely 
breakfast,  walked  over  to  the  mill  site,  where  the  men 
were  already  at  work.  Having  looked  the  work  over  and 
given  certain  directions,  he  glanced  at  his  watch,  and  find- 
ing it  near  nine,  set  out  for  the  justice's  office  in  time  to 
reach  it  by  the  appointed  hour.  Squire  Reddick  was  at 
his  desk,  upon  which  his  feet  rested,  while  he  read  a  news- 
paper. He  looked  up  with  an  air  of  surprise  as  the  colonel 
entered. 

"Why,  good  mornin',  Colonel  French,"  he  said  genially. 
"I  kind  of  expected  you  a  while  ago;  the  clerk  said  you 
might  be  around.  But  you  didn'  come,  so  I  supposed 
you'd  changed  yo'  mind." 

"The  clerk  said  that  you  would  be  here  at  nine,"  replied 
the  colonel;  "it  is  only  just  nine." 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  213 

"Did  he?  Well,  now,  that's  too  bad!  I  do  generally 
git  around  about  nine,  but  I  was  earlier  this  mornin'  and 
as  everybody  was  here,  we  started  in  a  little  sooner  than 
usual.     You  wanted  to  see  me  about  Bud  Johnson  ?" 

"Yes,  I  wish  to  pay  his  fine  and  give  him  work." 

"Well,  that's  too  bad;  but  you  weren't  here,  and  Mr. 
Turner  was,  and  he  bought  his  time  again  for  Mr.  Fetters. 
I'm  sorry,  you  know,  but  first  come,  first  served." 

The  colonel  was  seriously  annoyed.  He  did  not  like 
to  believe  there  was  a  conspiracy  to  frustrate  his  good 
intention;  but  that  result  had  been  accomplished,  whether 
by  accident  or  design.  He  had  failed  in  the  first  thing 
he  had  undertaken  for  the  woman  he  loved  and  was  to 
marry.  He  would  see  Fetters'  man,  however,  and  come 
to  some  arrangement  with  him.  With  Fetters  the  hiring 
of  the  Negro  was  purely  a  commercial  transaction,  con- 
ditioned upon  a  probable  profit,  for  the  immediate  payment 
of  which,  and  a  liberal  bonus,  he  would  doubtless  relin- 
quish his  claim  upon  Johnson's  services. 

Learning  that  Turner,  who  had  acted  as  Fetters's  agent 
in  the  matter,  had  gone  over  to  Clay  Johnson's  saloon,  he 
went  to  seek  him  there.  He  found  him,  and  asked  for  a 
proposition.     Turner  heard  him  out. 

"Well,  Colonel  French,"  he  replied  with  slightly  veiled 
insolence,  "I  bought  this  nigger's  time  for  Mr.  Fetters, 
an'  unless  I'm  might'ly  mistaken  in  Mr.  Fetters,  no  amount 
of  money  can  get  the  nigger  until  he's  served  his  time  out. 
He's  defied  our  rules  and  defied  the  law,  and  defied  me, 
and  assaulted  one  of  the  guards ;  and  he  ought  to  be  made 
an  example  of.  We  want  to  keep  'im;  he's  a  bad  nigger, 
an'  we've  got  to  handle  a  lot  of  'em,  an'  we  need  'im  for 
an  example — he  keeps  us  in  trainin'." 

"Have  you  any  power  in  the  matter?"  demanded  the 
eolonel,  restraining  his  contempt. 


214  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

"Me?  No,  not  me!  I  couldn'  let  the  nigger  go  for 
his  weight  in  gol' — an'  wouldn'  if  I  could.  I  bought  'im 
in  for  Mr.  Fetters,  an'  he's  the  only  man  that's  got  any 
say  about  'im." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  colonel  as  he  turned  away,  "I'll 
see  Fetters." 

"I  don't  know  whether  you  will  or  not,"  said  Turner 
to  himself,  as  he  shot  a  vindictive  glance  at  the  colonel's 
retreating  figure.  "Fetters  has  got  this  county  where  he 
wants  it,  an'  I'll  bet  dollars  to  bird  shot  he  ain't  goin'  to 
let  no  coon-flavoured  No'the'n  interloper  come  down  here 
an'  mix  up  with  his  arrangements,  even  if  he  did  hail 
from  this  town  way  back  yonder.  This  here  nigger  prob- 
lem is  a  South'en  problem,  and  outsiders  might's  well 
keep  their  han's  off.  Me  and  Haines  an'  Fetters  is  the 
kind  o'  men  to  settle  it." 

The  colonel  was  obliged  to  confess  to  Miss  Laura  his 
temporary  setback,  which  he  went  around  to  the  house 
and  did  immediately. 

"It's  the  first  thing  I've  undertaken  yet  for  your  sake, 
Laura,  and  I've  got  to  report  failure,  so  far." 

"It's  only  the  first  step,"  she  said,  consolingly. 

"That's  all.  I'll  drive  out  to  Fetters's  place  to-morrow, 
and  arrange  the  matter.  By  starting  before  day,  I  can 
make  it  and  transact  my  business,  and  get  back  by  night, 
without  hurting  the  horses." 

Catharine  was  called  in  and  the  situation  explained  to 
her.  Though  clearly  disappointed  at  the  delay,  and  not 
yet  free  of  apprehension  that  Bud  might  do  something 
rash,  she  seemed  serenely  confident  of  the  colonel's  ulti- 
mate success.  In  her  simple  creed,  God  might  sometimes 
seem  to  neglect  his  black  children,  but  no  harm  could  come 
to  a  Negro  who  had  a  rich  white  gentleman  for  friend  and 
protector. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

It  was  not  yet  sunrise  when  the  colonel  set  out  next 
day,  after  an  early  breakfast,  upon  his  visit  to  Fetters. 
There  was  a  crisp  freshness  in  the  air,  the  dew  was  thick 
upon  the  grass,  the  clear  blue  sky  gave  promise  of  a  bright 
day  and  a  pleasant  journey. 

The  plantation  conducted  by  Fetters  lay  about  twenty 
miles  to  the  south  of  Clarendon,  and  remote  from  any  rail- 
road, a  convenient  location  for  such  an  establishment,  for 
railroads,  while  they  bring  in  supplies  and  take  out  produce, 
also  bring  in  light  and  take  out  information,  both  of  which 
are  fatal  to  certain  fungus  growths,  social  as  well  as  vege- 
table, which  flourish  best  in  the  dark. 

The  road  led  by  Mink  Run,  and  the  colonel  looked  over 
toward  the  house  as  they  passed  it.  Old  and  weather- 
beaten  it  seemed,  even  in  the  distance,  which  lent  it  no  en- 
chantment in  the  bright  morning  light.  When  the  colonel 
had  travelled  that  road  in  his  boyhood,  great  forests  of 
primeval  pine  had  stretched  for  miles  on  either  hand, 
broken  at  intervals  by  thriving  plantations.  Now  all  was 
changed.  The  tall  and  stately  growth  of  the  long-leaf  pine 
had  well  nigh  disappeared;  fifteen  years  before,  the  turpen- 
tine industry,  moving  southward  from  Virginia,  along  the 
upland  counties  of  the  Appalachian  slope,  had  swept 
through  Clarendon  County,  leaving  behind  it  a  trail  of 
blasted  trunks  and  abandoned  stills.  Ere  these  had  yielded 
to  decay,  the  sawmill  had  followed,  and  after  the  sawmill 
the  tar  kiln,  so  that  the  dark  green  forest  was  now  only  a 
waste  of  blackened  stumps  and  undergrowth,  topped  by  the 

215 


216  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

vulgar  short-leaved  pine  and  an  occasional  oak  or  juniper. 
Here  and  there  they  passed  an  expanse  of  cultivated  land, 
and  there  were  many  smaller  clearings  in  which  could  be 
seen,  plowing  with  gaunt  mules  or  stunted  steers,  some 
heavy-footed  Negro  or  listless  "po'  white  man;"  or  women 
and  children,  black  or  white.  In  reply  to  a  question,  the 
coachman  said  that  Mr.  Fetters  had  worked  all  that  coun- 
try for  turpentine  years  before,  and  had  only  taken  up 
cotton  raising  after  the  turpentine  had  been  exhausted 
from  the  sand  hills. 

He  had  left  his  mark,  thought  the  colonel.  Like  the 
plague  of  locusts,  he  had  settled  and  devoured  and  then 
moved  on,  leaving  a  barren  waste  behind  him. 

As  the  morning  advanced,  the  settlements  grew  thinner, 
until  suddenly,  upon  reaching  the  crest  of  a  hill,  a  great 
stretch  of  cultivated  lowland  lay  spread  before  them.  In 
the  centre  of  the  plantation,  near  the  road  which  ran 
through  it,  stood  a  square,  new,  freshly  painted  frame 
house,  which  would  not  have  seemed  out  of  place  in  some 
Ohio  or  Michigan  city,  but  here  struck  a  note  alien  to  its 
surroundings.  Off  to  one  side,  like  the  Negro  quarters  of 
another  generation,  were  several  rows  of  low,  unpainted 
cabins,  built  of  sawed  lumber,  the  boards  running  up  and 
down,  and  battened  with  strips  where  the  edges  met. 
The  fields  were  green  with  cotton  and  with  corn,  and  there 
were  numerous  gangs  of  men  at  work,  with  an  apparent 
zeal  quite  in  contrast  with  the  leisurely  movement  of  those 
they  had  passed  on  the  way.  It  was  a  very  pleasing 
scene. 

"  Dis  yer,  suh,"  said  the  coachman  in  an  awed  tone,  "  is 
Mistah  Fetters's  plantation.  You  ain'  gwine  off  nowhere, 
and  leave  me  alone  whils'  you  are  hyuh,  is  you,  suh?" 

"No,"  said  the  colonel,  "I'll  keep  my  eye  on  you. 
Nobody '11  trouble  you  while  you're  with  me." 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  217 

Passing  a  clump  of  low  trees,  the  colonel  came  upon  a 
group  at  sight  of  which  he  paused  involuntarily.  A  gang 
of  Negroes  were  at  work.  Upon  the  ankles  of  some  was 
riveted  an  iron  band  to  which  was  soldered  a  chain,  at 
the  end  of  which  in  turn  an  iron  ball  was  fastened.  Accom- 
panying them  was  a  white  man,  in  whose  belt  was  stuck  a 
revolver,  and  who  carried  in  one  hand  a  stout  leather 
strap,  about  two  inches  in  width  with  a  handle  by  which 
to  grasp  it.  The  gang  paused  momentarily  to  look  at 
the  traveller,  but  at  a  meaning  glance  from  the  overseer 
fell  again  to  their  work  of  hoeing  cotton.  The  white  man 
stepped  to  the  fence,  and  Colonel  French  addressed  him. 

"Good  morning." 

"Mornin',  sun." 

"Will  you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  Mr.  Fetters? "'in- 
quired the  colonel. 

"No,  suh,  unless  he's  at  the  house.  He  may  have 
went  away  this  mornin',  but  I  haven't  heard  of  it.  But 
you  drive  along  the  road  to  the  house,  an'  somebody'll 
tell  you." 

The  colonel  seemed  to  have  seen  the  overseer  before, 
but  could  not  remember  where. 

"Sam,"  he  asked  the  coachman,  "who  is  that  white 
man?" 

"Dat's  Mistah  Haines,  suh — use'  ter  be  de  constable  at 
Cla'endon,  suh.  I  wouldn'  lak  to  be  in  no  gang  under 
him,  suh,  sho'  I  wouldn',  no,  suh!" 

After  this  ejaculation,  which  seemed  sincere  as  well  as 
fervent,  Sam  whipped  up  the  horses  and  soon  reached 
the  house.     A  Negro  boy  came  out  to  meet  them. 

"  Is  Mr.  Fetters  at  home, "  inquired  the  colonel  ? 

"I— I  don'  know,  suh— I— I'll  ax  Mars'  Turner. 
He's  hyuh." 

He  disappeared  round  the  house  and  in  a  few  minutes 


218  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

returned  with  Turner,  with  whom  the  colonel  exchanged 
curt  nods. 

"I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Fetters,"  said  the  colonel. 

"Well,  you  can't  see  him." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  he  ain't  here.  He  left  for  the  capital  this 
mornin',  to  be  gone  a  week.  You'll  be  havin'  a  fine 
drive,  down  here  and  back." 

The  colonel  ignored  the  taunt. 

"  When  will  Mr.  Fetters  return  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"I'm  shore  I  don't  know.  He  don't  tell  me  his  secrets. 
But  I'll  tell  you,  Colonel  French,  that  if  you're  after  that 
nigger,  you're  wastin'  your  time.  He's  in  Haines's  gang, 
and  Haines  loves  him  so  well  that  Mr.  Fetters  has  to  keep 
Bud  in  order  to  keep  Haines.  There's  no  accountin'  for 
these  vi'lent  affections,  but  they're  human  natur',  and  they 
have  to  be  'umoured." 

"I'll  talk  to  your  master,"  rejoined  the  colonel,  restrain- 
ing his  indignation  and  turning  away. 

Turner  looked  after  him  vindictively. 

"He'll  talk  to  my  master,  like  as  if  I  was  a  nigger!  It 
'11  be  a  long  time  before  he  talks  to  Fetters,  if  that's  who 
he  means — if  I  can  prevent  it.  Not  that  it  would  make 
any  difference,  but  I'll  just  keep  him  on  the  anxious 
seat." 

It  was  nearing  noon,  but  the  colonel  had  received  no 
invitation  to  stop,  or  eat,  or  feed  his  horses.  He  ordered 
Sam  to  turn  and  drive  back  the  way  they  had  come. 

As  they  neared  the  group  of  labourers  they  had  passed 
before,  the  colonel  saw  four  Negroes,  in  response  to  an 
imperative  gesture  from  the  overseer,  seize  one  of  their 
number,  a  short,  thickset  fellow,  overpower  some  small 
resistance  which  he  seemed  to  make,  throw  him  down 
with  his  face  to  the  ground,  and  sit  upon  his  extremities 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  219 

while  the  overseer  applied  the  broad  leathern  thong 
vigorously  to  his  bare  back. 

The  colonel  reached  over  and  pulled  the  reins  mechan- 
ically. His  instinct  was  to  interfere;  had  he  been  near 
enough  to  recognise  in  the  Negro  the  object  of  his  visit, 
Bud  Johnson,  and  in  the  overseer  the  ex-constable,  Haines, 
he  might  have  yielded  to  the  impulse.  But  on  second 
thought  he  realised  that  he  had  neither  authority  nor 
strength  to  make  good  his  interference.  For  aught  he 
knew,  the  performance  might  be  strictly  according  to  law. 
So,  fighting  a  feeling  of  nausea  which  he  could  hardly 
conquer,  he  ordered  Sam  to  drive  on. 

The  coachman  complied  with  alacrity,  as  though  glad 
to  escape  from  a  mighty  dangerous  place.  He  had 
known  friendless  coloured  folks,  who  had  strayed  down 
in  that  neighbourhood  to  be  lost  for  a  long  time;  and  he 
had  heard  of  a  spot,  far  back  from  the  road,  in  a  secluded 
part  of  the  plantation,  where  the  graves  of  convicts  who 
had  died  while  in  Fetters's  service  were  very  numerous. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

During  the  next  month  the  colonel  made  several  at- 
tempts to  see  Fetters,  but  some  fatality  seemed  always 
to  prevent  their  meeting.  He  finally  left  the  matter  of 
finding  Fetters  to  Caxton,  who  ascertained  that  Fetters 
would  be  in  attendance  at  court  during  a  certain  week,  at 
Carthage,  the  county  seat  of  the  adjoining  county,  where 
the  colonel  had  been  once  before  to  inspect  a  cotton  mill. 
Thither  the  colonel  went  on  the  day  of  the  opening  of 
court.  His  train  reached  town  toward  noon  and  he  went 
over  to  the  hotel.  He  wondered  if  he  would  find  the  pro- 
prietor sitting  where  he  had  found  him  some  weeks  before. 
But  the  buggy  was  gone  from  before  the  piazza,  and  there 
was  a  new  face  behind  the  desk.  The  colonel  registered, 
left  word  that  he  would  be  in  to  dinner,  and  then  went 
over  to  the  court  house,  which  lay  behind  the  trees  across 
the  square. 

The  court  house  was  an  old,  square,  hip-roofed  brick 
structure,  whose  walls,  whitewashed  the  year  before,  had 
been  splotched  and  discoloured  by  the  weather.  From 
one  side,  under  the  eaves,  projected  a  beam,  which  sup- 
ported a  bell  rung  by  a  rope  from  the  window  below.  A 
hall  ran  through  the  centre,  on  either  side  of  which  were 
the  county  offices,  while  the  court  room  with  a  judge's 
room  and  jury  room,  occupied  the  upper  floor. 

The  colonel  made  his  way  across  the  square,  which 
showed  the  usual  signs  of  court  being  in  session.  There 
were  buggies  hitched  to  trees  and  posts  here  and  there,  a 
few  Negroes  sleeping  in  the  sun,  and  several  old  coloured 

220 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  221 

women  with  little  stands  for  the  sale  of  cakes,  and  fried 
fish,  and  cider. 

The  colonel  went  upstairs  to  the  court  room.  It  was 
fairly  well  filled,  and  he  remained  standing  for  a  few 
minutes  near  the  entrance.  The  civil  docket  was  evidently 
on  trial,  for  there  was  a  jury  in  the  box,  and  a  witness 
was  being  examined  with  some  prolixity  with  reference  to 
the  use  of  a  few  inches  of  land  which  lay  on  one  side  or  on 
the  other  of  a  disputed  boundary.  From  what  the  colonel 
could  gather,  that  particular  line  fence  dispute  had 
been  in  litigation  for  twenty  years,  had  cost  several 
lives,  and  had  resulted  in  a  feud  that  involved  a  whole 
township. 

The  testimony  was  about  concluded  when  the  colonel 
entered,  and  the  lawyers  began  their  arguments.  The 
feeling  between  the  litigants  seemed  to  have  affected  their 
attorneys,  and  the  court  more  than  once  found  it  necessary 
to  call  counsel  to  order.  The  trial  was  finished,  however, 
without  bloodshed;  the  case  went  to  the  jury,  and  court 
was  adjourned  until  two  o'clock. 

The  colonel  had  never  met  Fetters,  nor  had  he  seen  any- 
one in  the  court  room  who  seemed  likely  to  be  the  man.  But 
he  had  seen  his  name  freshly  written  on  the  hotel  register, 
and  he  would  doubtless  go  there  for  dinner.  There  would 
be  ample  time  to  get  acquainted  and  transact  his  business 
before  court  reassembled  for  the  afternoon. 

Dinner  seemed  to  be  a  rather  solemn  function,  and 
except  at  a  table  occupied  by  the  judge  and  the  lawyers,  in 
the  corner  of  the  room  farthest  from  the  colonel,  little 
was  said.  A  glance  about  the  room  showed  no  one  whom 
the  colonel  could  imagine  to  be  Fetters,  and  he  was  about 
to  ask  the  waiter  if  that  gentleman  had  yet  entered  the  din- 
ing room,  when  a  man  came  in  and  sat  down  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  table.    The  colonel  looked  up,  and  met 


222  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

the  cheerful  countenance  of  the  liveryman  from  whom 
he  had  hired  a  horse  and  buggy  some  weeks  before. 

"Howdy  do?"  said  the  newcomer  amiably.  "Hope 
you've  been  well." 

"Quite  well,"  returned  the  colonel,  "how  are  you  ?" 

"Oh,  just  tol'able.    Tendin'  co't ? " 

"No,  I  came  down  here  to  see  a  man  that's  attending 
court — your  friend  Fetters.  I  suppose  he'll  be  in  to 
dinner." 

"Oh,  yes,  but  he  ain't  come  in  yet.  I  reckon  you  find 
the  ho-tel  a  little  different  from  the  time  you  were  here 
befo'." 

"This  is  a  better  dinner  than  I  got,"  replied  the  colonel, 
"and  I  haven't  seen  the  landlord  anywhere,  nor  his 
buggy." 

"No,  he  ain't  here  no  more.  Sad  loss  to  Carthage! 
You  see  Bark  Fetters — that's  Bill's  boy  that's  come  home 
from  the  No'th  from  college — Bark  Fetters  come  down 
here  one  day,  an'  went  in  the  ho-tel,  an'  when  Lee  Dickson 
commenced  to  put  on  his  big  airs,  Bark  cussed  'im  out, 
and  Lee,  who  didn'  know  Bark  from  Adam,  cussed  'im 
back,  an'  then  Bark  hauled  off  an'  hit  'im.  They  had  it 
hot  an'  heavy  for  a  while.  Lee  had  more  strength,  but 
Bark  had  more  science,  an'  laid  Lee  out  col'.  Then  Bark 
went  home  an'  tol'  the  ole  man,  who  had  a  mortgage  on 
the  ho-tel,  an'  he  sol'  Lee  up.  I  hear  he's  barberin'  or 
somethin'  er  that  sort  up  to  Atlanta,  an'  the  hotel's  run 
by  another  man.     There's  Fetters  comin'  in  now." 

The  colonel  glanced  in  the  direction  indicated,  and 
was  surprised  at  the  appearance  of  the  redoubtable  Fetters, 
who  walked  over  and  took  his  seat  at  the  table  with  the 
judge  and  the  lawyers.  He  had  expected  to  meet  a  tall, 
long-haired,  red-faced,  truculent  individual,  in  a  slouch 
hat  and  a  frock  coat,  with  a  loud  voice  and  a  dictatorial 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  223 

manner,  the  typical  Southerner  of  melodrama.  He  saw 
a  keen-eyed,  hard-faced,  small  man,  slightly  gray,  clean- 
shaven, wearing  a  well-fitting  city-made  business  suit  of 
light  tweed.  Except  for  a  few  little  indications,  such 
as  the  lack  of  a  crease  in  his  trousers,  Fetters  looked  like 
any  one  of  a  hundred  business  men  whom  the  colonel 
might  have  met  on  Broadway  in  any  given  fifteen  minutes 
during  business  hours. 

The  colonel  timed  his  meal  so  as  to  leave  the  dining- 
room  at  the  same  moment  with  Fetters.  He  went  up  to 
Fetters,  who  was  chewing  a  toothpick  in  the  office,  and 
made  himself  known. 

"I  am  Mr.  French,"  he  said — he  never  referred  to  him- 
self by  his  military  title — "  and  you,  I  believe,  are  Mr. 
Fetters?" 

"Yes,  sir,  that's  my  name,"  replied  Fetters  without 
enthusiasm,  but  eyeing  the  colonel  keenly  between  nar- 
rowed lashes. 

"I've  been  trying  to  see  you  for  some  time,  about  a 
matter,"  continued  the  colonel,  "but  never  seemed  able  to 
catch  up  with  you  before." 

"Yes,  I  heard  you  were  at  my  house,  but  I  was  asleep 
upstairs,  and  didn't  know  you'd  be'n  there  till  you'd 
gone." 

"Your  man  told  me  you  had  gone  to  the  capital  for  two 
weeks." 

"My  man?  Oh,  you  mean  Turner!  Well,  I  reckon 
you  must  have  riled  Turner  somehow,  and  he  thought  he'd 
have  a  joke  on  you." 

"I  don't  quite  see  the  joke,"  said  the  colonel,  restraining 
his  displeasure.  "But  that's  ancient  history.  Can  we 
sit  down  over  here  in  the  shade  and  talk  by  ourselves  for  a 
moment?" 

Fetters  followed  the  colonel  out  of  doors,  where  they  drew 


224  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

a  couple  of  chairs  to  one  side,  and  the  colonel  stated  the 
nature  of  his  business.  He  wished  to  bargain  for  the 
release  of  a  Negro,  Bud  Johnson  by  name,  held  to  service 
by  Fetters  under  a  contract  with  Clarendon  County.  He 
was  willing  to  pay  whatever  expense  Fetters  had  been  to 
on  account  of  Johnson,  and  an  amount  sufficient  to  cover 
any  estimated  profits  from  his  services. 

Meanwhile  Fetters  picked  his  teeth  nonchalantly,  so 
nonchalantly  as  to  irritate  the  colonel.  The  colonel's 
impatience  was  not  lessened  by  the  fact  that  Fetters 
waited  several  seconds  before  replying. 

"Well,  Mr.  Fetters,  what  say  you?" 

"Colonel  French,"  said  Fetters,  "I  reckon  you  can't 
have  the  nigger." 

"Is  it  a  matter  of  money?"  asked  the  colonel.  "Name 
your  figure.  I  don't  care  about  the  money.  I  want  the 
man  for  a  personal  reason." 

"So  do  I,"  returned  Fetters,  coolly,"  and  money's  no 
object  to  me.  I've  more  now  than  I  know  what  to  do 
with." 

The  colonel  mastered  his  impatience.  He  had  one 
appeal  which  no  Southerner  could  resist. 

"Mr.  Fetters,"  he  said,  "I  wish  to  get  this  man  released 
to  please  a  lady. " 

"Sorry  to  disoblige  a  lady,"  returned  Fetters,  "but  I'll 
have  to  keep  the  nigger.  I  run  a  big  place,  and  I'm  obliged 
to  maintain  discipline.  This  nigger  has  been  fractious  and 
contrary,  and  I've  sworn  that  he  shall  work  out  his  time. 
I  have  never  let  any  nigger  get  the  best  of  me — or  white 
man  either,"  he  added  significantly. 

The  colonel  was  angry,  but  controlled  himself  long 
enough  to  make  one  more  effort.  "I'll  give  you  five  hun- 
dred dollars  for  your  contract,"  he  said  rising  from  his 
chair. 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  225 

"You  couldn't  get  him  for  five  thousand." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  returned  the  colonel,  "this  is  not  the 
end  of  this.  I  will  see,  sir,  if  a  man  can  be  held  in  slavery 
in  this  State,  for  a  debt  he  is  willing  and  ready  to  pay. 
You'll  hear  more  of  this  before  I'm  through  with  it." 

"Another  thing,  Colonel  French,"  said  Fetters,  his 
quiet  eyes  glittering  as  he  spoke,  "I  wonder  if  you  recollect 
an  incident  that  occurred  years  ago,  when  we  went  to  the 
academy  in  Clarendon?" 

"If  you  refer,"  returned  the  colonel  promptly,  "to  the 
time  I  chased  you  down  Main  Street,  yes — I  recalled  it  the 
first  time  I  heard  of  you  when  I  came  back  to  Clarendon — 
and  I  remember  why  I  did  it.     It  is  a  good  omen." 

"That's  as  it  may  be,"  returned  Fetters  quietly.  "I 
didn't  have  to  recall  it;  I've  never  forgotten  it.  Now  you 
want  something  from  me,  and  you  can't  have  it." 

"We  shall  see,"  replied  the  colonel.  "I  bested  you 
then,  and  I'll  best  you  now." 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  Fetters. 

Fetters  was  not  at  all  alarmed,  indeed  he  smiled  rather 
pityingly.  There  had  been  a  time  when  these  old  aristo- 
crats could  speak,  and  the  earth  trembled,  but  that  day 
was  over.  In  this  age  money  talked,  and  he  had  known 
how  to  get  money,  and  how  to  use  it  to  get  more.  There 
were  a  dozen  civil  suits  pending  against  him  in  the  court 
house  there,  and  he  knew  in  advance  that  he  should  win 
them  every  one,  without  directly  paying  any  juryman  a 
dollar.  That  any  nigger  should  get  away  while  he  wished 
to  hold  him,  was — well,  inconceivable.  Colonel  French 
might  have  money,  but  he,  Fetters,  had  men  as  well;  and 
if  Colonel  French  became  too  troublesome  about  this 
nigger,  this  friendship  for  niggers  could  be  used  in  such 
a  way  as  to  make  Clarendon  too  hot  for  Colonel  French. 
He  really  bore  no  great  malice  against  Colonel  French 


226  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

for  the  little  incident  of  their  school  days,  but  he  had  not 
forgotten  it,  and  Colonel  French  might  as  well  learn  a 
lesson.  He,  Fetters,  had  not  worked  half  a  lifetime  for 
a  commanding  position,  to  yield  it  to  Colonel  French  or 
any  other  man.  So  Fetters  smoked  his  cigar  tranquilly, 
and  waited  at  the  hotel  for  his  anticipated  verdicts.  For 
there  could  not  be  a  jury  impanelled  in  the  county  which 
did  not  have  on  it  a  majority  of  men  who  were  mortgaged 
to  Fetters.  He  even  held  the  Judge's  note  for  several 
hundred  dollars. 

The  colonel  waited  at  the  station  for  the  train  back  to 
Clarendon.  When  it  came,  it  brought  a  gang  of  convicts, 
consigned  to  Fetters.  They  had  been  brought  down  in 
the  regular  "Jim  Crow"  car,  for  the  colonel  saw  coloured 
women  and  children  come  out  ahead  of  them.  The 
colonel  watched  the  wretches,  in  coarse  striped  garments, 
with  chains  on  their  legs  and  shackles  on  their  hands, 
unloaded  from  the  train  and  into  the  waiting  wagons. 
There  were  burly  Negroes  and  flat-shanked,  scrawny 
Negroes.  Some  wore  the  ashen  hue  of  long  confinement. 
Some  were  shamefaced,  some  reckless,  some  sullen.  A 
few  white  convicts  among  them  seemed  doubly  ashamed 
— both  of  their  condition  and  of  their  company;  they  kept 
together  as  much  as  they  were  permitted,  and  looked  with 
contempt  at  their  black  companions  in  misfortune.  Fet- 
ters's  man  and  Haines,  armed  with  whips,  and  with  pistols 
in  their  belts,  were  present  to  oversee  the  unloading,  and 
the  colonel  could  see  them  point  him  out  to  the  State 
officers  who  had  come  in  charge  of  the  convicts,  and  see 
them  look  at  him  with  curious  looks.  The  scene  was  not 
edifying.  There  were  criminals  in  New  York,  he  knew 
very  well,  but  he  had  never  seen  one.  They  were  not 
marched  down  Broadway  in  stripes  and  chains.  There 
were  certain  functions  of  society,  as  of  the  body,  which 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  227 

were  more  decently  performed  in  retirement.  There  was 
work  in  the  State  for  the  social  reformer,  and  the  colonel, 
undismayed  by  his  temporary  defeat,  metaphorically 
girded  up  his  loins,  went  home,  and,  still  metaphorically, 
set  out  to  put  a  spoke  in  Fetters's  wheel. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

His  first  step  was  to  have  Caxton  look  up  and  abstract 
for  him  the  criminal  laws  of  the  State.  They  were  bad 
enough,  in  all  conscience.  Men  could  be  tried  without 
jury  and  condemned  to  infamous  punishments,  involving 
stripes  and  chains,  for  misdemeanours  which  in  more 
enlightened  States  were  punished  with  a  small  fine  or 
brief  detention.  There  were,  for  instance,  no  degrees  of 
larceny,  and  the  heaviest  punishment  might  be  inflicted, 
at  the  discretion  of  the  judge,  for  the  least  offense. 

The  vagrancy  law,  of  which  the  colonel  had  had  some 
experience,  was  an  open  bid  for  injustice  and  "graft" 
and  clearly  designed  to  profit  the  strong  at  the  expense  of 
the  weak.  The  crop-lien  laws  were  little  more  than  the 
instruments  of  organised  robbery.  To  these  laws  the 
colonel  called  the  attention  of  some  of  his  neighbours 
with  whom  he  was  on  terms  of  intimacy.  The  enlightened 
few  had  scarcely  known  of  their  existence,  and  quite 
agreed  that  the  laws  were  harsh  and  ought  to  be  changed. 

But  when  the  colonel,  pursuing  his  inquiry,  undertook 
to  investigate  the  operation  of  these  laws,  he  found  an 
appalling  condition.  The  statutes  were  mild  and  benefi- 
cent compared  with  the  results  obtained  under  cover  of 
them.  Caxton  spent  several  weeks  about  the  State  looking 
up  the  criminal  records,  and  following  up  the  sentences 
inflicted,  working  not  merely  for  his  fee,  but  sharing  the 
colonel's  indignation  at  the  state  of  things  unearthed. 
Convict  labour  was  contracted  out  to  private  parties, 
with  little  or  no  effective  State  supervision,  on  terms 

228 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  229 

which,  though  exceedingly  profitable  to  the  State,  were 
disastrous  to  free  competitive  labour.  More  than  one 
lawmaker  besides  Fetters  was  numbered  among  these 
contractors. 

Leaving  the  realm  of  crime,  they  found  that  on  hundreds 
of  farms,  ignorant  Negroes,  and  sometimes  poor  whites, 
were  held  in  bondage  under  claims  of  debt,  or  under 
contracts  of  exclusive  employment  for  long  terms  of  years 
— contracts  extorted  from  ignorance  by  craft,  aided  by 
State  laws  which  made  it  a  misdemeanour  to  employ  such 
persons  elsewhere.  Free  men  were  worked  side  by  side 
with  convicts  from  the  penitentiary,  and  women  and 
children  herded  with  the  most  depraved  criminals,  thus 
breeding  a  criminal  class  to  prey  upon  the  State. 

In  the  case  of  Fetters  alone  the  colonel  found  a  dozen 
instances  where  the  law,  bad  as  it  was,  had  not  been  suffi- 
cient for  Fetters's  purpose,  but  had  been  plainly  violated. 
Caxton  discovered  a  discharged  guard  of  Fetters,  who 
told  him  of  many  things  that  had  taken  place  at  Sycamore; 
and  brought  another  guard  one  evening,  at  that  time 
employed  there,  who  told  him,  among  other  things,  that 
Bud  Johnson's  life,  owing  to  his  surliness  and  rebellious 
conduct,  and  some  spite  which  Haines  seemed  to  bear 
against  him,  was  simply  a  hell  on  earth — that  even  a 
strong  Negro  could  not  stand  it  indefinitely. 

A  case  was  made  up  and  submitted  to  the  grand  jury. 
Witnesses  were  summoned  at  the  colonel's  instance.  At 
the  last  moment  they  all  weakened,  even  the  discharged 
guard,  and  their  testimony  was  not  sufficient  to  justify 
an  indictment. 

The  colonel  then  sued  out  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus  for 
the  body  of  Bud  Johnson,  and  it  was  heard  before  the 
common  pleas  court  at  Clarendon,  with  public  opinion 
divided   between   the   colonel   and   Fetters.    The   court 


230  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

held  that  under  his  contract,  for  which  he  had  paid  the 
consideration,  Fetters  was  entitled  to  Johnson's  services. 

The  colonel,  defeated  but  still  undismayed,  ordered 
Caxton  to  prepare  a  memorial  for  presentation  to  the 
federal  authorities,  calling  their  attention  to  the  fact  that 
peonage,  a  crime  under  the  Federal  statutes,  was  being 
flagrantly  practised  in  the  State.  This  allegation  was 
supported  by  a  voluminous  brief,  giving  names  and  dates 
and  particular  instances  of  barbarity.  The  colonel  was 
not  without  some  quiet  support  in  this  movement;  there 
were  several  public-spirited  men  in  the  county,  including 
his  able  lieutenant  Caxton,  Dr.  Price  and  old  General 
Thornton,  none  of  whom  were  under  any  obligation  to 
Fetters,  and  who  all  acknowledged  that  something  ought 
to  be  done  to  purge  the  State  of  a  great  disgrace. 

There  was  another  party,  of  course,  which  deprecated 
any  scandal  which  would  involve  the  good  name  of  the 
State  or  reflect  upon  the  South,  and  who  insisted  that  in 
time  these  things  would  pass  away  and  there  would  be  no 
trace  of  them  in  future  generations.  But  the  colonel  in- 
sisted that  so  also  would  the  victims  of  the  system  pass 
away,  who,  being  already  in  existence,  were  certainly  en- 
titled to  as  much  consideration  as  generations  yet  unborn ;  it 
was  hardly  fair  to  sacrifice  them  to  a  mere  punctilio.  The 
colonel  had  reached  the  conviction  that  the  regenerative 
forces  of  education  and  enlightenment,  in  order  to  have 
any  effect  in  his  generation,  must  be  reinforced  by  some 
positive  legislative  or  executive  action,,  or  else  the  untram- 
melled forces  of  graft  and  greed  would  override  them ;  and 
he  was  human  enough,  at  this  stage  of  his  career  to  wish 
to  see  the  result  of  his  labours,  or  at  least  a  promise  of 
result. 

The  colonel's  papers  were  forwarded  to  the  proper  place, 
whence  they  were  referred  from  official  to  official,  and 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  231 

from  department  to  department.  That  it  might  take 
some  time  to  set  in  motion  the  machinery  necessary  to 
reach  the  evil,  the  colonel  knew  very  well,  and  hence  was 
not  impatient  at  any  reasonable  delay.  Had  he  known 
that  his  presentation  had  created  a  sensation  in  the 
highest  quarter,  but  that  owing  to  the  exigencies  of  national 
politics  it  was  not  deemed  wise,  at  that  time,  to  do  any- 
thing which  seemed  like  an  invasion  of  State  rights 
or  savoured  of  sectionalism,  he  might  not  have  been 
so  serenely  confident  of  the  outcome.  Nor  had  Fetters 
known  as  much,  would  he  have  done  the  one  thing  which 
encouraged  the  colonel  more  than  anything  else.  Caxton 
received  a  message  one  day  from  Judge  Bullard,  repre- 
senting Fetters,  in  which  Fetters  made  the  offer  that  if 
Colonel  French  would  stop  his  agitation  on  the  labour 
laws,  and  withdraw  any  papers  he  had  filed,  and  promise 
to  drop  the  whole  matter,  he  would  release  Bud  Johnson. 

The  colonel  did  not  hesitate  a  moment.  He  had  gone 
into  this  fight  for  Johnson — or  rather  to  please  Miss 
Laura.  He  had  risen  now  to  higher  game;  nothing  less 
than  the  system  would  satisfy  him. 

"But,  Colonel,"  said  Caxton,  "it's  pretty  hard  on  the 
nigger.  They'll  kill  him  before  his  time's  up.  If  you'll 
give  me  a  free  hand,  I'll  get  him  anyway." 

"How?" 

"Perhaps  it's  just  as  well  you  shouldn't  know.  But 
I  have  friends  at  Sycamore." 

"You  wouldn't  break  the  law?"  asked  the  colonel. 

"Fetters  is  breaking  the  law,"  replied  Caxton.  "He's 
holding  Johnson  for  debt — and  whether  that  is  lawful  or 
not,  he  certainly  has  no  right  to  kill  him." 

"You're  right,"  replied  the  colonel.  "Get  Johnson 
away,  I  don't  care  how.  The  end  justifies  the  means — 
that's  an  argument  that  goes  down  here.     Get  him  away, 


232  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

and  send  him  a  long  way  off,  and  he  can  write  for  his 
wife  to  join  him.  His  escape  need  not  interfere  with  our 
other  plans.  We  have  plenty  of  other  cases  against  Fet- 
ters." 

Within  a  week,  Johnson,  with  the  connivance  of  a 
bribed  guard,  a  poor-white  man  from  Clarendon,  had 
escaped  from  Fetters  and  seemingly  vanished  from 
Beaver  County.  Fetters's  lieutenants  were  active  in  their 
search  for  him,  but  sought  in  vain. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Ben  Dudley  awoke  the  morning  after  the  assembly 
ball,  with  a  violent  headache  and  a  sense  of  extreme 
depression,  which  was  not  relieved  by  the  sight  of  his 
reflection  in  the  looking-glass  of  the  bureau  in  the  hotel 
bedroom  where  he  found  himself. 

One  of  his  eyes  was  bloodshot,  and  surrounded  by  a 
wide  area  of  discolouration,  and  he  was  conscious  of 
several  painful  contusions  on  other  portions  of  his 
body.  His  clothing  was  badly  disordered  and  stained 
with  blood;  and,  all  in  all,  he  was  scarcely  in  a  condition 
to  appear  in  public.  He  made  such  a  toilet  as  he  could, 
and,  anxious  to  avoid  observation,  had  his  horse  brought 
from  the  livery  around  to  the  rear  door  of  the  hotel,  and 
left  for  Mink  Run  by  the  back  streets.  He  did  not  return 
to  town  for  a  week,  and  when  he  made  his  next  appearance 
there,  upon  strictly  a  business  visit,  did  not  go  near  the 
Treadwells',  and  wore  such  a  repellent  look  that  no  one 
ventured  to  speak  to  him  about  his  encounter  with  Fetters 
and  McRae.  He  was  humiliated  and  ashamed,  and 
angry  with  himself  and  all  the  world.  He  had  lost  Gra- 
ciella  already;  any  possibility  that  might  have  remained 
of  regaining  her  affection,  was  destroyed  by  his  having 
made  her  name  the  excuse  for  a  barroom  broil.  His 
uncle  was  not  well,  and  with  the  decline  of  his  health,  his 
monomania  grew  more  acute  and  more  absorbing,  and 
he  spent  most  of  his  time  in  the  search  for  the  treasure 
and  in  expostulations  with  Viney  to  reveal  its  whereabouts. 
The  supervision  of  the  plantation  work  occupied  Ben 

233 


234  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

most  of  the  time,  and  during  his  intervals  of  leisure  he 
sought  to  escape  unpleasant  thoughts  by  busying  himself 
with  the  model  of  his  cotton  gin. 

His  life  had  run  along  in  this  way  for  about  two  weeks 
after  the  ball,  when  one  night  Barclay  Fetters,  while  coming 
to  town  from  his  father's  plantation  at  Sycamore,  in  com- 
pany with  Turner,  his  father's  foreman,  was  fired  upon 
from  ambush,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Mink  Run,  and 
seriously  wounded.  Groaning  heavily  and  in  a  state  of 
semi-unconsciousness  he  was  driven  by  Turner,  in  the 
same  buggy  in  which  he  had  been  shot,  to  Doctor  Price's 
house,  which  lay  between  Mink  Run  and  the  town. 

The  doctor  examined  the  wound,  which  was  serious. 
A  charge  of  buckshot  had  been  fired  at  close  range,  from 
a  clump  of  bushes  by  the  wayside,  and  the  charge  had 
taken  effect  in  the  side  of  the  face.  The  sight  of  one 
eye  was  destroyed  beyond  a  peradventure,  and  that  of 
the  other  endangered  by  a  possible  injury  to  the  optic 
nerve.  A  sedative  was  administered,  as  many  as  possible 
of  the  shot  extracted,  and  the  wounds  dressed.  Mean- 
time a  messenger  was  despatched  to  Sycamore  for  Fetters, 
senior,  who  came  before  morning  post-haste.  To  his 
anxious  inquiries  the  doctor  could  give  no  very  hopeful 
answer. 

"He's  not  out  of  danger,"  said  Doctor  Price,  "and  won't 
be  for  several  days.  I  haven't  found  several  of  those 
shot,  and  until  they're  located  I  can't  tell  what  will  hap- 
pen. Your  son  has  a  good  constitution,  but  it  has  been 
abused  somewhat  and  is  not  in  the  best  condition  to 
throw  off  an  injury." 

"Do  the  best  you  can  for  him,  Doc,"  said  Fetters,  "and 
I'll  make  it  worth  your  while.  And  as  for  the  double- 
damned  scoundrel  that  shot  him  in  the  dark,  I'll  rake 
this  county  with  a    fine-toothed  comb  till   he's  found. 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  235 

F  Bark  dies,  the  murderer  shall  hang  as  high  as  Haman, 
if  it  costs  me  a  million  dollars,  or,  if  Bark  gets  well,  he 
shall  have  the  limit  of  the  law.  No  man  in  this  State 
shall  injure  me  or  mine  and  go  unpunished.3' 

The  next  day  Ben  Dudley  was  arrested  at  Mink  Run, 
on  a  warrant  sworn  out  by  Fetters,  senior,  charging  Dudley 
with  attempted  murder.  The  accused  was  brought  to 
Clarendon,  and  lodged  in  Beaver  County  jail. 

Ben  sent  for  Caxton,  from  whom  he  learned  that  his 
offense  was  not  subject  to  bail  until  it  became  certain  that 
Barclay  Fetters  would  recover.  For  in  the  event  of  his 
death,  the  charge  would  be  murder;  in  case  of  recovery, 
the  offense  would  be  merely  attempted  murder,  or  shooting 
with  intent  to  kill,  for  which  bail  was  allowable.  Mean- 
time he  would  have  to  remain  in  jail. 

In  a  day  or  two  young  Fetters  was  pronounced  out  of 
danger,  so  far  as  his  life  was  concerned,  and  Colonel 
French,  through  Caxton,  offered  to  sign  Ben's  bail  bond. 
To  Caxton 's  surprise  Dudley  refused  to  accept  bail  at  the 
colonel's   hands. 

"I  don't  want  any  favours  from  Colonel  French,"  he 
said  decidedly.  "I  prefer  to  stay  in  jail  rather  than  to 
be  released  on  his  bond." 

So  he  remained  in  jail. 

Graciella  was  not  so  much  surprised  at  Ben's  refusal 
to  accept  bail.  She  had  reasoned  out,  with  a  fine  instinct, 
the  train  of  emotions  which  had  brought  her  lover  to  grief, 
and  her  own  share  in  stirring  them  up.  She  could  not 
believe  that  Ben  was  capable  of  shooting  a  man  from 
ambush;  but  even  if  he  had,  it  would  have  been  for  love 
of  her;  and  if  he  had  not,  she  had  nevertheless  been  the 
moving  cause  of  the  disaster.  She  would  not  willingly 
have  done  young  Mr.  Fetters  an  injury.  He  had  favoured 
her  by  his  attentions,  and,  if  all  stories  were  true,  he  had 


236  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

behaved  better  than  Ben,  in  the  difficulty  between  them, 
and  had  suffered  more.  But  she  loved  Ben,  as  she  grew 
to  realise,  more  and  more.  She  wanted  to  go  and  see 
Ben  in  jail  but  her  aunt  did  not  think  it  proper.  Appear- 
ances were  all  against  Ben,  and  he  had  not  purged  him- 
self by  any  explanation.  So  Graciella  sat  down  and  wrote 
him  a  long  letter.  She  knew  very  well  that  the  one  thing 
that  would  do  him  most  good  would  be  the  announcement 
of  her  Aunt  Laura's  engagement  to  Colonel  French. 
There  was  no  way  to  bring  this  about,  except  by  first 
securing  her  aunt's  permission.  This  would  make  neces- 
sary a  frank  confession,  to  which,  after  an  effort,  she 
nerved  herself. 

"Aunt  Laura,"  she  said,  at  a  moment  when  they  were 
alone  together,  "I  know  why  Ben  will  not  accept  bail 
from  Colonel  French,  and  why  he  will  not  tell  his  side  of 
the  quarrel  between  himself  and  Mr.  Fetters.  He  was 
foolish  enough  to  imagine  that  Colonel  French  was 
coming  to  the  house  to  see  me,  and  that  I  preferred  the 
colonel  to  him.  And,  Aunt  Laura,  I  have  a  confession 
to  make;  I  have  done  something  for  which  I  want  to  beg 
your  pardon.  I  listened  that  night,  and  overheard  the 
colonel  ask  you  to  be  his  wife.  Please,  dear  Aunt  Laura, 
forgive  me,  and  let  me  write  and  tell  Ben — just  Ben,  in 
confidence.     No  one  else  need  know  it." 

Miss  Laura  was  shocked  and  pained,  and  frankly  said 
so,  but  could  not  refuse  the  permission,  on  condition  that 
Ben  should  be  pledged  to  keep  her  secret,  which,  for 
reasons  of  her  own,  she  was  not  yet  ready  to  make  public. 
She,  too,  was  fond  of  Ben,  and  hoped  that  he  might  clear 
himself  of  the  accusation.  So  Graciella  wrote  the  letter. 
She  was  no  more  frank  in  it,  however,  on  one  point,  than 
she  had  been  with  her  aunt,  for  she  carefully  avoided  saying 
that  she  had  taken  Colonel  French's  attentions  seriously, 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  237 

or  built  any  hopes  upon  them,  but  chided  Ben  for  putting 
such  a  construction  upon  her  innocent  actions,  and 
informed  him,  as  proof  of  his  folly,  and  in  the  strictest 
confidence,  that  Colonel  French  was  engaged  to  her 
Aunt  Laura.  She  expressed  her  sorrow  for  his  predica- 
ment, her  profound  belief  in  his  innocence,  and  her 
unhesitating  conviction  that  he  would  be  acquitted  of  the 
pending  charge. 

To  this  she  expected  by  way  of  answer  a  long  letter  of 
apology,  explanation,  and  protestations  of  undying  love. 

She  received,  instead,  a  brief  note  containing  a  cold 
acknowledgment  of  her  letter,  thanking  her  for  her  inter- 
est in  his  welfare,  and  assuring  her  that  he  would  respect 
Miss  Laura's  confidence.  There  was  no  note  of  love  or 
reproachfulness — mere   cold   courtesy. 

Graciella  was  cut  to  the  quick,  so  much  so  that  she  did 
not  even  notice  Ben's  mistakes  in  spelling.  It  would  have 
been  better  had  he  overwhelmed  her  with  reproaches — 
it  would  have  shown  at  least  that  he  still  loved  her.  She 
cried  bitterly,  and  lay  awake  very  late  that  night,  wondering 
what  else  she  could  do  for  Ben  that  a  self-respecting 
young  lady  might.  For  the'  first  time,  she  was  more  con- 
cerned about  Ben  than  about  herself.  If  by  marrying 
him  immediately  she  could  have  saved  him  from  danger 
and  disgrace  she  would  have  done  so  without  one  selfish 
thought — unless  it  were  selfish  to  save  one  whom  she  loved. 

The  preliminary  hearing  in  the  case  of  the  State  vs. 
Benjamin  Dudley  was  held  as  soon  as  Doctor  Price 
pronounced  Barclay  Fetters  out  of  danger.  The  pro- 
ceedings took  place  before  Squire  Reddick,  the  same 
justice  from  whom  the  colonel  had  bought  Peter's  services, 
and  from  whom  he  had  vainly  sought  to  secure  Bud 
Johnson's  release. 


238  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

In  spite  of  Dudley's  curt  refusal  of  his  assistance,  the 
colonel,  to  whom  Miss  Laura  had  conveyed  a  hint  of  the 
young  man's  frame  of  mind,  had  instructed  Caxton  to 
spare  no  trouble  or  expense  in  the  prisoner's  interest. 
There  was  little  doubt,  considering  Fetters's  influence  and 
vindictiveness,  that  Dudley  would  be  remanded,  though 
the  evidence  against  him  was  purely  circumstantial;  but 
it  was  important  that  the  evidence  should  be  carefully 
scrutinised,  and  every  legal  safeguard  put  to  use. 

The  case  looked  bad  for  the  prisoner.  Barclay  Fetters 
was  not  present,  nor  did  the  prosecution  need  him;  his 
testimony  could  only  have  been  cumulative. 

Turner  described  the  circumstances  of  the  shooting 
from  the  trees  by  the  roadside  near  Mink  Run,  and  the 
driving  of  the  wounded  man  to  Doctor  Price's. 

Doctor  Price  swore  to  the  nature  of  the  wound,  its 
present  and  probable  consequences,  which  involved  the 
loss  of  one  eye  and  perhaps  the  other,  and  produced  the 
shot  he  had  extracted. 

McRae  testified  that  he  and  Barclay  Fetters  had  gone 
down  between  dances,  from  the  Opera  Ball,  to  the  hotel 
bar,  to  get  a  glass  of  seltzer.  They  had  no  sooner  entered 
the  barr  than  the  prisoner,  who  had  evidently  been  drinking 
heavily  and  showed  all  the  signs  of  intoxication,  had 
picked  a  quarrel  with  them  and  assaulted  Mr.  Fetters. 
Fetters,  with  the  aid  of  the  witness,  had  defended  himself. 
In  the  course  of  the  altercation,  the  prisoner  had  used 
violent  and  profane  language,  threatening,  among  other 
things,  to  kill  Fetters.  All  this  testimony  was  objected 
to,  but  was  admitted  as  tending  to  show  a  motive  for  the 
crime.    This  closed  the  State's  case. 

Caxton  held  a  hurried  consultation  with  his  client. 
Should  they  put  in  any  evidence,  which  would  be  merely 
to  show  their  hand,  since  the  prisoner  would  in  any  event 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

undoubtedly  be  bound  over?  Ben  was  unable  to  deny 
what  had  taken  place  at  the  hotel,  for  he  had  no  distinct 
recollection  of  it — merely  a  blurred  impression,  like  the 
memory  of  a  bad  dream.  He  could  not  swear  that  he 
had  not  threatened  Fetters.  The  State's  witnesses  had 
refrained  from  mentioning  the  lady's  name;  he  could  do 
no  less.  So  far  as  the  shooting  was  concerned,  he  had 
had  no  weapon  with  which  to  shoot.  His  gun  had  been 
stolen  that  very  day,  and  had  not  been  recovered. 

"The  defense  will  offer  no  testimony,"  declared  Caxton, 
at  the  result  of  the  conference. 

The  justice  held  the  prisoner  to  the  grand  jury,  and 
fixed  the  bond  at  ten  thousand  dollars.  Graciella's  in- 
formation had  not  been  without  its  effect,  and  when 
Caxton  suggested  that  he  could  still  secure  bail,  he  had 
little  difficulty  in  inducing  Ben  to  accept  Colonel  French's 
friendly  offices.  The  bail  bond  was  made  out  and  signed, 
and  the  prisoner  released. 

Caxton  took  Ben  to  his  office  after  the  hearing.  There 
Ben  met  the  colonel,  thanked  him  for  his  aid  and  friend- 
ship, and  apologised  for  his  former  rudeness. 

"I  was  in  a  bad  way,  sir,"  he  said,  "and  hardly  knew 
what  I  was  doing.  But  I  know  I  didn't  shoot  Bark 
Fetters,  and  never  thought  of  such  a  thing." 

"  I'm  sure  you  didn't,  my  boy,"  said  the  colonel,  laying 
his  hand,  in  familiar  fashion,  upon  the  young  fellow's 
shoulder,  "and  we'll  prove  it  before  we  quit.  There 
are  some  ladies  who  believe  the  same  thing,  and  would 
like  to  hear  you  say  it." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Ben.  "I  should  like  to  tell 
them,  but  I  shouldn't  want  to  enter  their  house  until  I 
am  cleared  of  this  charge.  I  think  too  much  of  them  to 
expose  them  to  any  remarks  about  harbouring  a  man 
out  on  bail  for  a  penitentiary  offense.     I'll  write  to  them, 


240  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

sir,  and  thank  them  for  their  trust  and  friendship,  and 
you  can  tell  them  for  me,  if  you  will,  that  I'll  come  to  see 
them  when  not  only  I,  but  everybody  else,  can  say  that  I 
am  fit  to  go." 

"Your  feelings  do  you  credit,"  returned  the  colonel 
warmly,  "and  however  much  they  would  like  to  see  you, 
I'm  sure  the  ladies  will  appreciate  your  delicacy.  As  your 
friend  and  theirs,  you  must  permit  me  to  serve  you 
further,  whenever  the  opportunity  offers,  until  this  affair  is 
finished." 

Ben  thanked  the  colonel  from  a  full  heart,  and  went 
back  to  Mink  Run,  where,  in  the  effort  to  catch  up  the 
plantation  work,  which  had  fallen  behind  in  his  absence,  he 
sought  to  forget  the  prison  atmosphere  and  lose  the  prison 
pallor.  The  disgrace  of  having  been  in  jail  was  indelible, 
and  the  danger  was  by  no  means  over.  The  sympathy 
of  his  friends  would  have  been  priceless  to  him,  but  to 
remain  away  from  them  would  be  not  only  the  honourable 
course  to  pursue,  but  a  just  punishment  for  his  own  folly. 
For  Graciella,  after  all,  was  only  a  girl — a  young  girl,  and 
scarcely  yet  to  be  judged  harshly  for  her  actions ;  while  he 
was  a  man  grown,  who  knew  better,  and  had  not  acted 
according  to   his  lights. 

Three  days  after  Ben  Dudley's  release  on  bail,  Clarendon 
was  treated  to  another  sensation.  Former  constable 
Haines,  now  employed  as  an  overseer  at  Fetters's  convict 
farm,  while  driving  in  a  buggy  to  Clarendon,  where 
he  spent  his  off-duty  spells,  was  shot  from  ambush  near 
Mink  Run,  and  his  right  arm  shattered  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  require  amputation. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

Colonel  French's  interest  in  Ben  Dudley's  affairs  had 
not  been  permitted  to  interfere  with  his  various  enterprises. 
Work  on  the  chief  of  these,  the  cotton  mill,  had  gone 
steadily  forward,  with  only  occasional  delays,  incident  to 
the  delivery  of  material,  the  weather,  and  the  health  of 
the  workmen,  which  was  often  uncertain  for  a  day  or  two 
after  pay  day.  The  coloured  foreman  of  the  brick- 
layers had  been  seriously  ill;  his  place  had  been  filled  by 
a  white  man,  under  whom  the  walls  were  rising  rapidly. 
Jim  Green,  the  foreman  whom  the  colonel  had  formerly 
discharged,  and  the  two  white  bricklayers  who  had  quit 
at  the  same  time,  applied  for  reinstatement.  The  colonel 
took  the  two  men  on  again,  but  declined  to  restore  Green, 
who  had  been  discharged  for  insubordination. 

Green  went  away  swearing  vengeance.  At  Clay 
Johnson's  saloon  he  hurled  invectives  at  the  colonel,  to 
all  who  would  listen,  and  with  anger  and  bad  whiskey, 
soon  worked  himself  into  a  frame  of  mind  that  was  ripe 
for  any  mischief.  Some  of  his  utterances  were  reported 
to  the  colonel,  who  was  not  without  friends — the  wealthy 
seldom  are;  but  he  paid  no  particular  attention  to  them, 
except  to  keep  a  watchman  at  the  mill  at  night,  lest  this 
hostility  should  seek  an  outlet  in  some  attempt  to  injure 
the  property.  The  precaution  was  not  amiss,  for  once 
the  watchman  shot  at  a  figure  prowling  about  the  mill. 
The  lesson  was  sufficient,  apparently,  for  there  was  no 
immediate  necessity  to  repeat  it. 

The  shooting  of  Haines,  while  not  so  sensational  as  that 

241 


242  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

of  Barclay  Fetters,  had  given  rise  to  considerable  feeling 
against  Ben  Dudley.  That  two  young  men  should  quar- 
rel, and  exchange  shots,  would  not  ordinarily  have  been 
a  subject  of  extended  remark.  But  two  attempts  at 
assassination  constituted  a  much  graver  affair.  That 
Dudley  was  responsible  for  this  second  assault  was  the 
generally  accepted  opinion.  Fetters's  friends  and  hirelings 
were  openly  hostile  to  young  Dudley,  and  Haines  had  been 
heard  to  say,  in  his  cups,  at  Clay  Jackson's  saloon,  that 
when  young  Dudley  was  tried  and  convicted  and  sent  to 
the  penitentiary,  he  would  be  hired  out  to  Fetters,  who 
had  the  county  contract,  and  that  he,  Haines,  would  be 
delighted  to  have  Dudley  in  his  gang.  The  feeling  against 
Dudley  grew  from  day  to  day,  and  threats  and  bets  were 
openly  made  that  he  would  not  live  to  be  tried.  There 
was  no  direct  proof  against  him,  but  the  moral  and  cir- 
cumstantial evidence  was  quite  sufficient  to  convict  him 
in  the  eyes  of  Fetters 's  friends  and  supporters.  The 
colonel  was  sometimes  mentioned,  in  connection  with  the 
affair  as  a  friend  of  Ben's,  for  whom  he  had  given  bail, 
and  as  an  enemy  of  Fetters,  to  whom  his  antagonism  in 
various  ways  had  become  a  matter  of  public  knowledge 
and  interest. 

One  day,  while  the  excitement  attending  the  second 
shooting  was  thus  growing,  Colonel  French  received 
through  the  mail  a  mysteriously  worded  note,  vaguely  hint- 
ing at  some  matter  of  public  importance  which  the  writer 
wished  to  communicate  to  him,  and  requesting  a  private 
interview  for  the  purpose,  that  evening,  at  the  colonel's 
house.  The  note,  which  had  every  internal  evidence  of 
sincerity,  was  signed  by  Henry  Taylor,  the  principal  of  the 
coloured  school,  whom  the  colonel  had  met  several  times 
in  reference  to  the  proposed  industrial  school.  From  the 
tenor  of  the  communication,  and  what  he  knew  about 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  243 

Taylor,  the  colonel  had  no  doubt  that  the  matter  was  one 
of  importance,  at  least  not  one  to  be  dismissed  without 
examination.  He  thereupon  stepped  into  Caxton's  office 
and  wrote  an  answer  to  the  letter,  fixing  eight  o'clock  that 
evening  as  the  time,  and  his  own  library  as  the  place,  of  a 
meeting  with  the  teacher.  This  letter  he  deposited  in  the 
post-office  personally — it  was  only  a  step  from  Caxton's 
office.  Upon  coming  out  of  the  post-office  he  saw  the 
teacher  standing  on  an  opposite  corner.  When  the  colonel 
had  passed  out  of  sight,  Taylor  crossed  the  street,  entered 
the  post-office,  and  soon  emerged  with  the  letter.  He  had 
given  no  sign  that  he  saw  the  colonel,  but  had  looked  rather 
ostentatiously  the  other  way  when  that  gentleman  had 
glanced  in  his  direction. 

At  the  appointed  hour  there  was  a  light  step  on  the 
colonel's  piazza.  The  colonel  was  on  watch,  and  opened 
the  door  himself,  ushering  Taylor  into  his  library,  a  very 
handsome  and  comfortable  room,  the  door  of  which  he 
carefully  closed  behind  them. 

The  teacher  looked  around  cautiously. 

"Are  we  alone,  sir?" 

"Yes,  entirely  so." 

"And  can  any  one  hear  us?" 

"No.      What  have  you  got  to  tell  me?" 

"Colonel  French,"  replied  the  other,  "I'm  in  a  hard 
situation,  and  I  want  you  to  promise  that  you'll  never 
let  on  to  any  body  that  I  told  you  what  I'm  going 
to  say." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Taylor,  if  it  is  a  proper  promise  to 
make.     You  can  trust  my  discretion." 

"Yes,  sir,  I'm  sure  I  can.  We  coloured  folks,  sir,  are 
often  accused  of  trying  to  shield  criminals  of  our  own  race, 
or  of  not  helping  the  officers  of  the  law  to  catch  them. 
Maybe  we  does,  suh,"  he  said,  lapsing  in  his  earnestness, 


244  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

into  bad  grammar,  "maybe  we  does  sometimes,  but  not 
without  reason." 

"What  reason?"  asked  the  colonel. 

"Well,  sir,  fer  the  reason  that  we  ain't  always  shore  that 
a  coloured  man  will  get  a  fair  trial,  or  any  trial  at  all,  or 
that  he'll  get  a  just  sentence  after  he's  been  tried.  We 
have  no  hand  in  makin'  the  laws,  or  in  enforcin'  'em;  we 
are  not  summoned  on  jury;  and  yet  we're  asked  to  do 
the  work  of  constables  and  sheriffs  who  are  paid  for 
arrestin'  criminals,  an'  for  protectin'  'em  from  mobs,  which 
they  don't  do." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  every  word  you  say  is  true,  Mr.  Taylor, 
and  such  a  state  of  things  is  unjust,  and  will  some  day  be 
different,  if  I  can  help  to  make  it  so.  But,  nevertheless, 
all  good  citizens,  whatever  their  colour,  ought  to  help  to 
preserve  peace  and  good  order." 

"Yes,  sir,  so  they  ought;  and  I  want  to  do  just  that;  I 
want  to  co-operate,  and  a  whole  heap  of  us  want  to  co- 
operate with  the  good  white  people  to  keep  down  crime 
and  lawlessness.  I  know  there's  good  white  people  who 
want  to  see  justice  done — but  they  ain't  always  strong 
enough  to  run  things;  an'  if  any  one  of  us  coloured  folks 
tells  on  another  one,  he's  liable  to  lose  all  his  frien's.  But 
I  believe,  sir,  that  I  can  trust  you  to  save  me  harmless,  and 
to  see  that  nothin'  mo'  than  justice  is  done  to  the  coloured 
man." 

"Yes,  Taylor,  you  can  trust  me  to  do  all  that  I  can,  and 
I  think  I  have  considerable  influence,  Now,  what's  on 
your  mind?  Do  you  know  who  shot  Haines  and  Mr. 
Fetters?" 

"Well,  sir,  you're  a  mighty  good  guesser.  It  ain't  so 
much  Mr.  Fetters  an'  Mr.  Haines  I'm  thinkin'  about,  for 
that  place  down  the  country  is  a  hell  on  earth,  an'  they're 
the  devils  that  runs  it.     But  there's  a  friend  of  yo'rs  in 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  245 

trouble,  for  something  he  didn'  do,  an'  I  wouldn'  stan'  for 
an  innocent  man  bein'  sent  to  the  penitentiary — though 
many  a  po'  Negro  has  been.  Yes,  sir,  I  know  that  Mr. 
Ben  Dudley  didn'  shoot  them  two  white  men." 

"  So  do  I,"  rejoined  the  colonel.     "  Who  did  ?  " 

"It  was  Bud  Johnson,  the  man  you  tried  to  get  away 
from  Mr.  Fetters — yo'r  coachman  tol'  us  about  it,  sir,  an' 
we  know  how  good  a  friend  of  ours  you  are,  from  what 
you've  promised  us  about  the  school.  An'  I  wanted  you 
to  know,  sir.  You  are  our  friend,  and  have  showed  con- 
fidence in  us,  and  I  wanted  to  prove  to  you  that  we  are  not 
ungrateful,  an'  that  we  want  to  be  good  citizens." 

"I  had  heard,"  said  the  colonel,  "that  Johnson  had 
escaped  and  left  the  county." 

"So  he  had,  sir,  but  he  came  back.  They  had  'bused 
him  down  at  that  place  till  he  swore  he'd  kill  every  one  that 
had  anything  to  do  with  him.  It  was  Mr.  Turner  he  shot 
at  the  first  time  and  he  hit  young  Mr.  Fetters  by  accident. 
He  stole  a  gun  from  ole  Mr.  Dudley's  place  at  Mink  Run, 
shot  Mr.  Fetters  with  it,  and  has  kept  it  ever  since,  and 
shot  Mr.  Haines  with  it.  I  suppose  they'd  'a'  ketched 
him  before,  if  it  hadn't  be'n  for  suspectin'  young  Mr. 
Dudley." 

"Where  is  Johnson  now,"  asked  the  colonel. 

"  He's  hidin'  in  an  old  log  cabin  down  by  the  swamp  back 
of  Mink  Run.  He  sleeps  in  the  daytime,  and  goes  out  at 
night  to  get  food  and  watch  for  white  men  from  Mr.  Fet- 
ters's  place." 

"Does  his  wife  laiow  where  he  is?" 

"No,  sir;  he  ain't  never  let  her  know. 

"By  the  way,  Taylor,"  asked  the  colonel,  "how  do  you 
know  all  this?" 

"  Well,  sir,"  replied  the  teacher,  with  something  which, 
in  an  uneducated  Negro  would  have  been  a  very  pro- 


246  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

nounced  chuckle,  "there's  mighty  little  goin'  on  roun'  here 
that  I  don't  find  out,  sooner  or  later." 

"Taylor,'  said  the  colonel,  rising  to  terminate  the  inter- 
view, "you  have  rendered  a  public  service,  have  proved 
yourself  a  good  citizen,  and  have  relieved  Mr.  Dudley  of 
serious  embarrassment.  I  will  see  that  steps  are  taken 
to  apprehend  Johnson,  and  will  keep  your  participation 
in  the  matter  secret,  since  you  think  it  would  hurt  your 
influence  with  your  people.  And  I  promise  you  faithfully 
that  every  effort  shall  be  made  to  see  that  Johnson  has  a 
fair  trial  and  no  more  than  a  just  punishment." 

He  gave  the  Negro  his  hand. 

"Thank  you,  sir,  thank  you,  sir,"  replied  the  teacher, 
returning  the  colonel's  clasp.  "If  there  were  more  white 
men  like  you,  the  coloured  folks  would  have  no  more 
trouble." 

The  colonel  let  Taylor  out,  and  watched  him  as  he 
looked  cautiously  up  and  down  the  street  to  see  that  he 
was  not  observed.  That  coloured  folks,  or  any  other 
kind,  should  ever  cease  to  have  trouble,  was  a  vain  imagin- 
ing. But  the  teacher  had  made  a  well-founded  complaint 
of  injustice  which  ought  to  be  capable  of  correction;  and 
he  had  performed  a  public-spirited  action,  even  though  he 
had  felt  constrained  to  do  it  in  a  clandestine  manner. 

About  his  own  part  in  the  affair  the  colonel  was  troubled. 
It  was  becoming  clear  to  him  that  the  task  he  had  under- 
taken was  no  light  one — not  the  task  of  apprehending 
Johnson  and  clearing  Dudley,  but  that  of  leavening  the 
inert  mass  of  Clarendon  with  the  leaven  of  enlightenment. 
With  the  best  of  intentions,  and  hoping  to  save  a  life,  he  had 
connived  at  turning  a  murderer  loose  upon  the  community. 
It  was  true  that  the  community,  through  unjust  laws,  had 
made  him  a  murderer,  but  it  was  no  part  of  the  colonel's 
plan  to  foster  or  promote  evil  passions,  or  to  help  the 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  247 

victims  of  the  law  to  make  reprisals.  His  aim  was  to  bring 
about,  by  better  laws  and  more  liberal  ideas,  peace,  har- 
mony, and  universal  good  will.  There  was  a  colossal 
work  for  him  to  do,  and  for  all  whom  he  could  enlist  with 
him  in  this  cause.  The  very  standards  of  right  and  wrong 
had  been  confused  by  the  race  issue,  and  must  be  set  right 
by  the  patient  appeal  to  reason  and  humanity.  Primitive 
passions  and  private  vengeance  must  be  subordinated  to 
law  and  order  and  the  higher  good.  A  new  body  of 
thought  must  be  built  up,  in  which  stress  must  be  laid 
upon  the  eternal  verities,  in  the  light  of  which  difficulties 
which  now  seemed  unsurmountable  would  be  gradually 
overcome. 

But  this  halcyon  period  was  yet  afar  off,  and  the  colonel 
roused  himself  to  the  duty  of  the  hour.  With  the  best 
intentions  he  had  let  loose  upon  the  communtiy,  in  a 
questionable  way,  a  desperate  character.  It  was  no  less 
than  his  plain  duty  to  put  the  man  under  restraint.  To 
rescue  from  Fetters  a  man  whose  life  was  threatened,  was 
one  thing.  To  leave  a  murderer  at  large  now  would  be 
to  endanger  innocent  lives,  and  imperil  Ben  Dudley's 
future. 

The  arrest  of  Bud  Johnson  brought  an  end  to  the  case 
against  Ben  Dudley.  The  prosecuting  attorney,  who  was 
under  political  obligations  to  Fetters,  seemed  reluctant  to 
dismiss  the  case,  until  Johnson's  guilt  should  have  been 
legally  proved;  but  the  result  of  the  Negro's  preliminary 
hearing  rendered  this  position  no  longer  tenable;  the  case 
against  Ben  was  nolled,  and  he  could  now  hold  up  his  head 
as  a  free  man,  with  no  stain  upon  his  character. 

Indeed,  the  reaction  in  his  favour  as  one  unjustly 
indicted,  went  far  to  wipe  out  from  the  public  mind 
the  impression  that  he  was  a  drunkard  and  a  rowdy. 
It  was  recalled  that  he  was  of  good  family  and  that  his 


248  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

forbears  had  rendered  valuable  service  to  the  State,  and 
that  he  had  never  been  seen  to  drink  before,  or  known 
to  be  in  a  fight,  but  that  on  the  contrary  he  was  quiet  and 
harmless  to  a  fault.  Indeed,  the  Clarendon  public  would 
have  admired  a  little  more  spirit  in  a  young  man,  even  to 
the  extent  of  condoning  an  occasional  lapse  into  license. 

There  was  sincere  rejoicing  at  the  Treadwell  house 
when  Ben,  now  free  in  mind,  went  around  to  see  the  ladies. 
Miss  Laura  was  warmly  sympathetic  and  congratulatory; 
and  Graciella,  tearfully  happy,  tried  to  make  up  by  a 
sweet  humility,  through  which  shone  the  true  womanliness 
of  a  hitherto  undeveloped  character,  for  the  past  stings 
and  humiliations  to  which  her  selfish  caprice  had  sub- 
jected her  lover.  Ben  resumed  his  visits,  if  not  with  quite 
their  former  frequency,  and  it  was  only  a  day  or  two  later 
that  the  colonel  found  him  and  Graciella,  with  his  own 
boy  Phil,  grouped  in  familiar  fashion  on  the  steps,  where 
Ben  was  demonstrating  with  some  pride  of  success,  the 
operation  of  his  model,  into  which  he  was  feeding  cotton 
when  the  colonel  came  up. 

The  colonel  stood  a  moment  and  looked  at  the  machine. 

"It's  quite  ingenious,"  he  said.  "Explain  the  prin- 
ciple." 

Ben  described  the  mechanism,  in  brief,  well-chosen 
words  which  conveyed  the  thought  clearly  and  concisely, 
and  revealed  a  fine  mind  for  mechanics  and  at  the  same 
time  an  absolute  lack  of  technical  knowledge. 

"It  would  never  be  of  any  use,  sir,"  he  said,  at  the  end, 
"  for  everybody  has  the  other  kind.  But  it's  another  way, 
and  I  think  a  better." 

"It  is  clever,"  said  the  colonel  thoughtfully,  as  he  went 
into  the  house. 

The  colonel  had  not  changed  his  mind  at  all  since 
asking  Miss  Laura  to  be  his  wife.    The  glow  of  happiness 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  249 

still  warmed  her  cheek,  the  spirit  of  youth  still  lingered  in 
her  eyes  and  in  her  smile.  He  might  go  a  thousand 
miles  before  meeting  a  woman  who  would  please  him 
more,  take  better  care  of  Phil,  or  preside  with  more  dignity 
over  his  household.  Her  simple  grace  would  adapt  itself 
to  wealth  as  easily  as  it  had  accommodated  itself  to  poverty. 
It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  travel  with  her  to  new  scenes 
and  new  places,  to  introduce  her  into  a  wider  world,  to 
see  her  expand  in  the  generous  sunlight  of  ease  and  freedom 
from  responsibility. 

True  to  his  promise,  the  colonel  made  every  effort  to  see 
that  Bud  Johnson  should  be  protected  against  mob  violence 
and  given  a  fair  trial.  There  was  some  intemperate  talk 
among  the  partisans  of  Fetters,  and  an  ominous  gathering 
upon  the  streets  the  day  after  the  arrest,  but  Judge  Miller, 
of  the  Beaver  County  circuit,  who  was  in  Clarendon  that 
day,  used  his  influence  to  discountenance  any  disorder, 
and  promised  a  speedy  trial  of  the  prisoner.  The  crime 
was  not  the  worst  of  crimes,  and  there  was  no  excuse  for 
riot  or  lynch  law.  The  accused  could  not  escape  his  just 
punishment. 

As  a  result  of  the  judge's  efforts,  supplemented  by  the 
colonel's  and  those  of  Doctor  Price  and  several  ministers, 
any  serious  fear  of  disorder  was  removed,  and  a  handful 
of  Fetters's  guards  who  had  come  up  from  his  convict 
farm  and  foregathered  with  some  choice  spirits  of  the 
town  at  Clay  Jackson's  saloon,  went  back  without  attempt- 
ing to  do  what  they  had  avowedly  come  to  town  to  ac- 
complish. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

One  morning  the  colonel,  while  overseeing  the  work 
at  the  new  mill  building,  stepped  on  the  rounded  handle 
of  a  chisel,  which  had  been  left  lying  carelessly  on  the 
floor,  and  slipped  and  fell,  spraining  his  ankle  severely. 
He  went  home  in  his  buggy,  which  was  at  the  mill,  and 
sent  for  Doctor  Price,  who  put  his  foot  in  a  plaster  bandage 
and  ordered  him  to  keep  quiet  for  a  week. 

Peter  and  Phil  went  around  to  the  Tread  wells'  to  inform 
the  ladies  of  the  accident.  On  reaching  the  house  after 
the  accident,  the  colonel  had  taken  off  his  coat,  and  sent 
Peter  to  bring  him  one  from  the  closet  off  his  bedroom. 

When  the  colonel  put  on  the  coat,  he  felt  .some  papers 
in  the  inside  pocket,  and  taking  them  out,  recognised  the 
two  old  letters  he  had  taken  from  the  lining  of  his  desk 
several  months  before.  The  housekeeper,  in  a  moment 
of  unusual  zeal,  had  discovered  and  mended  the  tear  in 
the  sleeve,  and  Peter  had  by  chance  selected  this  particular 
coat  to  bring  to  his  master.  When  Peter  started,  with 
Phil,  to  go  to  the  Treadwells',  the  colonel  gave  him  the 
two  letters.   . 

"Give  these,"  he  said,  "to  Miss  Laura,  and  tell  her  I 
found  them  in  the  old  desk." 

It  was  not  long  before  Miss  Laura  came,  with  Graciella, 
to  call  on  the  colonel.  When  they  had  expressed  the  proper 
sympathy,  and  had  been  assured  that  the  hurt  was  not 
dangerous,  Miss  Laura  spoke  of  another  matter. 

"Henry,"  she  said,  with  an  air  of  suppressed  excite- 
ment, "I  have  made  a  discovery.    I  don't  quite  know 

250 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  251 

what  it  means,  or  whether  it  amounts  to  anything,  but 
in  one  of  the  envelopes  you  sent  me  just  now  there  was  a 
paper  signed  by  Mr.  Fetters.  I  do  not  know  how  it  could 
have  been  left  in  the  desk;  we  had  searched  it,  years  ago, 
in  every  nook  and  cranny,  and  found  nothing." 

The  colonel  explained  the  circumstances  of  his  discovery 
of  the  papers,  but  prudently  refrained  from  mentioning 
how  long  ago  they  had  taken  place. 

Miss  Laura  handed  him  a  thin,  oblong,  yellowish  slip 
of  paper,  which  had  been  folded  in  the  middle;  it  was  a 
printed  form,  upon  which  several  words  had  been  filled 
in  with  a  pen. 

"It  was  enclosed  in  this,"  she  said,  handing  him  another 
paper. 

The  colonel  took  the  papers  and  glanced  over  them. 

"Mother  thinks,"  said  Miss  Laura  anxiously,  "that 
they  are  the  papers  we  were  looking  for,  that  prove  that 
Fetters  was  in  father's  debt." 

The  colonel  had  been  thinking  rapidly.  The  papers 
were,  indeed,  a  promissory  note  from  Fetters  to  Mr. 
Treadwell,  and  a  contract  and  memorandum  of  certain 
joint  transactions  in  turpentine  and  cotton  futures.  The 
note  was  dated  twenty  years  back.  Had  it  been  pro- 
duced at  the  time  of  Mr.  Treadwell's  death,  it  would 
not  have  been  difficult  to  collect,  and  would  have 
meant  to  his  survivors  the  difference  between  poverty 
and  financial  independence.  Now  it  was  barred  by  the 
lapse  of  time. 

Miss  Laura  was  waiting  in  eager  expectation.  Out- 
wardly calm,  her  eyes  were  bright,  her  cheeks  were 
glowing,  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  excitedly.  Could  he 
tell  her  that  this  seemingly  fortunate  accident  was  merely 
the  irony  of  fate — a  mere  cruel  reminder  of  a  former 
misfortune  ?     No,  she  could  not  believe  it ! 


252  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

"It  has  made  me  happy,  Henry,"  she  said,  while  he  still 
kept  his  eyes  bent  on  the  papers  to  conceal  his  perplexity, 
"it  has  made  me  very  happy  to  think  that  I  may  not  come 
to  you  empty-handed." 

(  "Dear  woman,"  he  thought,  "you  shall  not.  If  the  note 
is  not  good,  it  shall  be  made  good." 

"Laura,"  he  said  aloud,  "I  am  no  lawyer,  but  Caxton 
shall  look  at  these  to-day,  and  I  shall  be  very  much 
mistaken  if  they  do  not  bring  you  a  considerable  sum  of 
money.  Say  nothing  about  them,  however,  until  Caxton 
reports.  He  will  be  here  to  see  me  to-day  and  by  to- 
morrow you  shall  have  his  opinion." 

Miss  Laura  went  away  with  a  radiantly  hopeful  face, 
and  as  she  and  Graciella  went  down  the  street,  the  colonel 
noted  that  her  step  was  scarcely  less  springy  than  her 
niece's.  It  was  worth  the  amount  of  Fetters's  old  note 
to  make  her  happy;  and  since  he  meant  to  give  her  all 
that  she  might  want,  what  better  way  than  to  do  it  by 
means  of  this  bit  of  worthless  paper?  It  would  be  a 
harmless  deception,  and  it  would  save  the  pride  of  three 
gentlewomen,  with  whom  pride  was  not  a  disease,  to  poison 
and  scorch  and  blister,  but  an  inspiration  to  courtesy,  and 
kindness,  and  right  living.  Such  a  pride  was  worth 
cherishing  even  at  a  sacrifice,  which  was,  after  all,  no 
sacrifice. 

He  had  already  sent  word  to  Caxton  of  his  accident, 
requesting  him  to  call  at  the  house  on  other  business. 
Caxton  came  in  the  afternoon,  and  when  the  matter  con- 
cerning which  he  had  come  had  been  disposed  of,  Colonel 
French  produced  Fetters's  note. 

"Caxton,"  he  said,  "I  wish  to  pay  this  note  and  let  it 
seem  to  have  come  from  Fetters." 

Caxton  looked  at  the  note. 

"Why  should  you  pay  it?"  he  asked.    "I  mean,"  he 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  253 

added,  noting  a  change  in  the  colonel's  expression,  "why 
shouldn't  Fetters  pay  it?" 

"Because  it  is  outlawed,"  he  replied,  "and  we  could 
hardly  expect  him  to  pay  for  anything  he  didn't  have  to 
pay.  The  statute  of  limitations  runs  against  it  after 
fifteen  years — and  it's  older  than  that,  much  older  than 
that." 

Caxton  made  a  rapid  mental  calculation. 

"That  is  the  law  in  New  York,"  he  said,  "but  here  the 
statute  doesn't  begin  to  run  for  twenty  years.  The  twenty 
years  for  which  this  note  was  given  expires  to-day." 

"Then  it  is  good?"  demanded  the  colonel,  looking  at 
his  watch. 

"It  is  good,"  said  Caxton,  "provided  there  is  no  defence 
to  it  except  the  statute,  and  provided  I  can  file  a  petition 
on  it  in  the  county  clerk's  office  by  four  o'clock,  the  time 
at  which  the  office  closes.  It  is  now  twenty  minutes  of 
four." 

"Can  you  make  it?" 

"I'll  try." 

Caxton,  since  his  acquaintance  with  Colonel  French, 
had  learned  something  more  about  the  value  of  half  an 
hour  than  he  had  ever  before  appreciated,  and  here  was  an 
opportunity  to  test  his  knowledge.  He  literally  ran  the 
quarter  of  a  mile  that  lay  between  the  colonel's  residence 
and  the  court  house,  to  the  open-eyed  astonishment  of 
those  whom  he  passed,  some  of  whom  wondered  whether 
he  were  crazy,  and  others  whether  he  had  committed  a 
crime.  He  dashed  into  the  clerk's  office,  seized  a  pen,  and 
the  first  piece  of  paper  handy,  and  began  to  write  a 
petition.  The  clerk  had  stepped  into  the  hall,  and  when 
he  came  leisurely  in  at  three  minutes  to  four,  Caxton  dis- 
covered that  he  had  written  his  petition  on  the  back  of  a 
blank  marriage  license.    He  folded  it,  ran  his  pen  through 


254  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

the  printed  matter,  endorsed  it,  "Estate  of  Tread  way  vs. 
Fetters,"  signed  it  with  the  name  of  Ellen  Treadway,  as 
executrix,  by  himself  as  her  attorney,  swore  to  it  before 
the  clerk,  and  handed  it  to  that  official,  who  raised  his 
eyebrows  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  endorsement. 

"Now,  Mr.  Munroe,"  said  Caxton,  "if  you'll  enter 
that  on  the  docket,  now,  as  of  to-day,  I'll  be  obliged  to  you. 
I'd  rather  have  the  transaction  all  finished  up  while  I  wait. 
Your  fee  needn't  wait  the  termination  of  the  suit.  I'll 
pay  it  now  and  take  a  receipt  for  it." 

The  clerk  whistled  to  himself  as  he  read  the  petition  in 
order  to  make  the  entry. 

"That's  an  old-timer,"  he  said.  "It'll  make  the  old 
man  cuss." 

"Yes,"  said  Caxton.  "Do  me  a  favour,  and  don't 
say  anything  about  it  for  a  day  or  two.  I  don't  think  the 
suit  will  ever  come  to  trial." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

On  the  day  following  these  events,  the  colonel,  on  the 
arm  of  old  Peter,  hobbled  out  upon  his  front  porch,  and 
seating  himself  in  a  big  rocking  chair,  in  front  of  which  a 
cushion  had  been  adjusted  for  his  injured  ankle,  composed 
himself  to  read  some  arrears  of  mail  which  had  come  in  the 
day  before,  and  over  which  he  had  only  glanced  casually. 
When  he  was  comfortably  settled,  Peter  and  Phil  walked 
down  the  steps,  upon  the  lowest  of  which  they  seated 
themselves.  The  colonel  had  scarcely  begun  to  read 
before  he  called  to  the  old  man. 

"Peter,"  he  said,  "I  wish  you'd  go  upstairs,  and  look 
in  my  room,  and  bring  me  a  couple  of  light-coloured 
cigars  from  the  box  on  my  bureau — the  mild  ones,  you 
know,  Peter." 

"Yas,  suh,  I  knows,  suh,  de  mil'  ones,  dem  wid  de 
gol'  ban's  'roun'  'em.  Now  you  stay  right  hyuh,  chile, 
till  Peter  come  back." 

Peter  came  up  the  steps  and  disappeared  in  the  door- 
way. 

The  colonel  opened  a  letter  from  Kirby,  in  which  that 
energetic  and  versatile  gentleman  assured  the  colonel 
that  he  had  evolved  a  great  scheme,  in  which  there  were 
millions  for  those  who  would  go  into  it.  He  had  already 
interested  Mrs.  Jerviss,  who  had  stated  she  would  be 
governed  by  what  the  colonel  did  in  the  matter.  The 
letter  went  into  some  detail  upon  this  subject,  and  then 
drifted  off  into  club  and  social  gossip.  Several  of  the 
colonel's  friends  had  inquired   particularly   about  him. 

255 


256  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

One  had  regretted  the  loss  to  their  whist  table.  Another 
wanted  the  refusal  of  his  box  at  the  opera,  if  he  were  not 
coming  back  for  the  winter. 

"I  think  you're  missed  in  a  certain  quarter,  old  fellow. 
I  know  a  lady  who  would  be  more  than  delighted  to  see 
you.  I  am  invited  to  her  house  to  dinner,  ostensibly  to 
talk  about  our  scheme,  in  reality  to  talk  about  you. 

"  But  this  is  all  by  the  way.  The  business  is  the  thing. 
Take  my  proposition  under  advisement.  We  all  made 
money  together  before;  we  can  make  it  again.  My  option 
has  ten  days  to  run.  Wire  me  before  it  is  up  what  reply 
to  make.  I  know  what  you'll  say,  but  I  want  your 
'ipse  dixit.'" 

The  colonel  knew  too  what  his  reply  would  be,  and  that 
it  would  be  very  different  from  Kirby's  anticipation.  He 
would  write  it,  he  thought,  next  day,  so  that  Kirby  should 
not  be  kept  in  suspense,  or  so  that  he  might  have  time 
to  enlist  other  capital  in  the  enterprise.  The  colonel 
felt  really  sorry  to  disappoint  his  good  friends.  He 
would  write  and  inform  Kirby  of  his  plans,  including  that 
of  his  approaching  marriage. 

He  had  folded  the  letter  and  laid  it  down,  and  had 
picked  up  a  newspaper,  when  Peter  returned  with  the 
cigars  and  a  box  of  matches. 

"Mars  Henry?"  he  asked,  "w'at's  gone  wid  de  chile?" 

"Phil?"  replied  the  colonel,  looking  toward  the  step, 
from  which  the  boy  had  disappeared.  "I  suppose  he 
went  round  the  house." 

"Mars  Phil!     O  Mars  Phil!"  called  the  old  man. 

There  was  no  reply. 

Peter  looked  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  but  Phil  was 
nowhere  visible.  The  old  man  went  round  to  the  back 
yard,  and  called  again,  but  did  not  find  the  child. 

"I  hyuhs  de  train  comin';  I  'spec's  he's  gone  up  ter 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  257 

de  railroad  track,"  he  said,  when  he  had  returned  to 
the  front  of  the  house.  "I'll  run  up  dere  an'  fetch 
'im  back." 

"  Yes,  do,  Peter,"  returned  the  colonel.  "  He's  probably 
all  right,  but  you'd  better  see  about  him." 

Little  Phil,  seeing  his  father  absorbed  in  the  newspaper, 
and  not  wishing  to  disturb  him,  had  amused  himself  by 
going  to  the  gate  and  looking  down  the  street  toward  the 
railroad  track.  He  had  been  doing  this  scarcely  a  moment, 
when  he  saw  a  black  cat  come  out  of  a  neighbour's  gate 
and  go  down  the  street. 

Phil  instantly  recalled  Uncle  Peter's  story  of  the  black 
cat.     Perhaps  this  was  the  same  one! 

Phil  had  often  been  warned  about  the  railroad. 

"Keep  'way  f'm  dat  railroad  track,  honey,"  the  old  man 
had  repeated  more  than  once.  "It's  as  dange'ous  as  a 
gun,  and  a  gun  is  dange'ous  widout  lock,  stock,  er  bairl : 
I  knowed  a  man  oncet  w'at  beat  'is  wife  ter  def  wid  a 
ramrod,  an'  wuz  hung  fer  it  in  a'  ole  fiel'  down  by  de 
ha'nted  house.  Dat  gun  could  n't  hoi'  powder  ner  shot, 
but  was  dange'ous  'nuff  ter  kill  two  folks.  So  you  jes' 
better  keep  'way  f'm  dat  railroad  track,  chile." 

But  Phil  was  a  child,  with  the  making  of  a  man,  and  the 
wisest  of  men  sometimes  forget.  For  the  moment  Phil 
saw  nothing  but  the  cat,  and  wished  for  nothing  more  than 
to  talk  to  it. 

So  Phil,  unperceived  by  the  colonel,  set  out  to  overtake 
the  black  cat.  The  cat  seemed  in  no  hurry,  and  Phil 
had  very  nearly  caught  up  with  him — or  her,  as  the  case 
might  be — when  the  black  cat,  having  reached  the  rail- 
road siding,  walked  under  a  flat  car  which  stood  there, 
and  leaping  to  one  of  the  truck  bars,  composed  itself, 
presumably  for  a  nap.  In  order  to  get  close  enough  to 
the  cat  for  conversational  purposes,  Phil  stooped  under 


258  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

the  overhanging  end  of  the  car,  and  kneeled  down  beside 
the  truck. 

"Kitty,  Kitty!"  he  called,  invitingly. 

The  black  cat  opened  her  big  yellow  eyes  with  every 
evidence  of  lazy  amiability. 

Peter  shuffled  toward  the  corner  as  fast  as  his  rickety 
old  limbs  would  carry  him.  When  he  reached  the  corner 
he  saw  a  car  standing  on  the  track.  There  was  a  brake- 
man  at  one  end,  holding  a  coupling  link  in  one  hand, 
and  a  coupling  pin  in  the  other,  his  eye  on  an  engine 
and  train  of  cars  only  a  rod  or  two  away,  advancing 
to  pick  up  the  single  car.  At  the  same  moment  Peter 
caught  sight  of  little  Phil,  kneeling  under  the  car  at  the 
other  end. 

Peter  shouted,  but  the  brakeman  was  absorbed  in  his 
own  task,  which  required  close  attention  in  order  to 
assure  his  own  safety.  The  engineer  on  the  cab,  at  the 
other  end  of  the  train,  saw  an  old  Negro  excitedly  gesticu- 
lating, and  pulled  a  lever  mechanically,  but  too  late  to 
stop  the  momentum  of  the  train,  which  was  not  equipped 
with  air  brakes,  even  if  these  would  have  proved  effective 
to  stop  it  in  so  short  a  distance. 

Just  before  the  two  cars  came  together,  Peter  threw 
himself  forward  to  seize  the  child.  As  he  did  so,  the  cat 
sprang  from  the  truck  bar;  the  old  man  stumbled  over 
the  cat,  and  fell  across  the  rail.  The  car  moved  only  a 
few  feet,  but  quite  far  enough  to  work  injury. 

A  dozen  people,  including  the  train  crew,  quickly 
gathered.  Willing  hands  drew  them  out  and  laid  them 
upon  the  grass  under  the  spreading  elm  at  the  corner 
of  the  street.  A  judge,  a  merchant  and  a  Negro  labourer 
lifted  old  Peter's  body  as  tenderly  as  though  it  had  been 
that  of  a  beautiful  woman.  The  colonel,  somewhat 
uneasy,  he  scarcely  knew  why,  had  started  to  limp  pain- 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  259 

fully  toward  the  corner,  when  he  was  met  by  a  messenger 
who  informed  him  of  the  accident.  Forgetting  his  pain, 
he  hurried  to  the  scene,  only  to  find  his  heart's  delight 
lying  pale,  bleeding  and  unconscious,  beside  the  old 
Negro  who  had  sacrificed  his  life  to  save  him. 

A  doctor,  who  had  been  hastily  summoned,  pronounced 
Peter  dead.  Phil  showed  no  superficial  injury,  save  a 
cut  upon  the  head,  from  which  the  bleeding  was  soon 
stanched.  A  Negro's  strong  arms  bore  the  child  to  the 
house,  while  the  bystanders  remained  about  Peter's 
body  until  the  arrival  of  Major  McLean,  recently  elected 
coroner,  who  had  been  promptly  notified  of  the  accident. 
Within  a  few  minutes  after  the  officer's  appearance,  a 
jury  was  summoned  from  among  the  bystanders,  the  evi- 
dence of  the  trainmen  and  several  other  witnesses  was 
taken,  and  a  verdict  of  accidental  death  rendered.  There 
was  no  suggestion  of  blame  attaching  to  any  one;  it  had 
been  an  accident,  pure  and  simple,  which  ordinary  and 
reasonable  prudence  could  not  have  foreseen. 

By  the  colonel's  command,  the  body  of  his  old  servant 
was  then  conveyed  to  the  house  and  laid  out  in  the  front 
parlour.  Every  honour,  every  token  of  respect,  should 
be  paid  to  his  remains. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

Meanwhile  the  colonel,  forgetting  his  own  hurt,  hov- 
ered, with  several  physicians,  among  them  Doctor  Price, 
around  the  bedside  of  his  child.  The  slight  cut  upon  the 
head,  the  physicians  declared,  was  not,  of  itself,  sufficient 
to  account  for  the  rapid  sinking  which  set  in  shortly  after 
the  boy's  removal  to  the  house.  There  had  evidently 
been  some  internal  injury,  the  nature  of  which  could  not 
be  ascertained.  Phil  remained  unconscious  for  several 
hours,  but  toward  the  end  of  the  day  opened  his  blue 
eyes  and  fixed  them  upon  his  father,  who  was  sitting  by 
the  bedside. 

"Papa,"  he  said,  "am  I  going  to  die?" 

"No,  no,  Phil,"  said  his  father  hopefully.  "You  are 
going  to  get  well  in  a  few  days,  I  hope." 

Phil  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  looked  around  him 
curiously.    He  gave  no  sign  of  being  in  pain. 

"Is  Miss  Laura  here?" 

"Yes,  Phil,  she's  in  the  next  room,  and  will  be  here  in 
a  moment." 

At  that  instant  Miss  Laura  came  in  and  kissed  him. 
The  caress  gave  him  pleasure,  and  he  smiled  sweetly  in 
return. 

"Papa,  was  Uncle  Peter  hurt?" 

"Yes,  Phil." 

"  Where  is  he,  papa  ?    Was  he  hurt  badly  ?  " 

"He  is  lying  in  another  room,  Phil,  but  he  is  not  in  any 
pain." 

"Papa,"  said  Phil,  after  a  pause,  "if  I  should  die,  and 

260 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  261 

if  Uncle  Peter  should  die,  you'll  remember  your  promise 
and  bury  him  near  me,  won't  you,  dear  ? " 

"Yes,  Phil,"  he  said,  "but  you  are  not  going  to  die!" 

But  Phil  died,  dozing  off  into  a  peaceful  sleep  in  which 
he  passed  quietly  away  with  a  smile  upon  his  face. 

It  required  all  the  father's  fortitude  to  sustain  the  blow, 
with  the  added  agony  of  self-reproach  that  he  himself 
had  been  unwittingly  the  cause  of  it.  Had  he  not  sent  old 
Peter  into  the  house,  the  child  would  not  have  been  left 
alone.  Had  he  kept  his  eye  upon  Phil  until  Peter's  return 
the  child  would  not  have  strayed  away.  He  had  neglected 
his  child,  while  the  bruised  and  broken  old  black  man 
in  the  room  below  had  given  his  life  to  save  him.  He 
could  do  nothing  now  to  show  the  child  his  love  or  Peter 
his  gratitude,  and  the  old  man  had  neither  wife  nor  child 
in  whom  the  colonel's  bounty  might  find  an  object.  But 
he  would  do  what  he  could.  He  would  lay  his  child's 
body  in  the  old  family  lot  in  the  cemetery,  among  the 
bones  of  his  ancestors,  and  there  too,  close  at  hand, 
old  Peter  should  have  honourable  sepulture.  It  was 
his  due,  and  would  be  the  fulfilment  of  little  Phil's  last 
request. 

The  child  was  laid  out  in  the  parlour,  amid  a  mass  of 
flowers.  Miss  Laura,  for  love  of  him  and  of  the  colonel, 
with  her  own  hands  prepared  his  little  body  for  the  last 
sleep.  The  undertaker,  who  hovered  around,  wished, 
with  a  conventional  sense  of  fitness,  to  remove  old  Peter's 
body  to  a  back  room.    But  the  colonel  said  no. 

"They  died  together;  together  they  shall  lie  here,  and 
they  shall  be  buried  together." 

He  gave  instructions  as  to  the  location  of  the  graves 
in  the  cemetery  lot.    The  undertaker  looked  thoughtful. 

"I  hope,  sir,"  said  the  undertaker,  "there  will  be  no 
objection.    It's  not  customary — there's  a  coloured  grave- 


262  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

yard — you  might  put  up  a  nice  tombstone  there — and 
you've  been  away  from  here  a  long  time,  sir." 

"If  any  one  objects,"  said  the  colonel,  "send  him  to 
me.  The  lot  is  mine,  and  I  shall  do  with  it  as  I  like. 
My  great-great-grandfather  gave  the  cemetery  to  the  town. 
Old  Peter's  skin  was  black,  but  his  heart  was  white  as  any 
man's !  And  when  a  man  reaches  the  grave,  he  is  not  far 
from  God,  who  is  no  respecter  of  persons,  and  in  whose 
presence,  on  the  judgment  day,  many  a  white  man  shall 
be  black,  and  many  a  black  man  white." 

The  funeral  was  set  for  the  following  afternoon.  The 
graves  were  to  be  dug  in  the  morning.  The  undertaker, 
whose  business  was  dependent  upon  public  favour,  and 
who  therefore  shrank  from  any  step  which  might  affect 
his  own  popularity,  let  it  be  quietly  known  that  Colonel 
French  had  given  directions  to  bury  Peter  in  Oak  Ceme- 
tery. 

It  was  inevitable  that  there  should  be  some  question 
raised  about  so  novel  a  proceeding.  The  colour  line  in 
Clarendon,  as  in  all  Southern  towns,  was,  on  the  surface 
at  least,  rigidly  drawn,  and  extended  from  the  cradle  to 
the  grave.  No  Negro's  body  had  ever  profaned  the  sacred 
soil  of  Oak  Cemetery.  The  protestants  laid  the  matter 
before  the  Cemetery  trustees,  and  a  private  meeting  was 
called  in  the  evening  to  consider  the  proposed  interment. 

White  and  black  worshipped  the  same  God,  in  different 
churches.  There  had  been  a  time  when  coloured  people 
filled  the  galleries  of  the  white  churches,  and  white  ladies 
had  instilled  into  black  children  the  principles  of  religion 
and  good  morals.  But  as  white  and  black  had  grown 
nearer  to  each  other  in  condition,  they  had  grown  farther 
apart  in  feeling.  It  was  difficult  for  the  poor  lady,  for 
instance,  to  patronise  the  children  of  the  well-to-do 
Negro  or  mulatto;  nor  was  the  latter  inclined  to  look  up 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  263 

to  white  people  who  had  started,  in  his  memory,  from  a 
position  but  little  higher  than  his  own.  In  an  era  of 
change,  the  benefits  gained  thereby  seemed  scarcely  to 
offset  the  difficulties  of  readjustment. 

The  situation  was  complicated  by  a  sense  of  injury  on 
both  sides.  Cherishing  their  theoretical  equality  of  citizen- 
ship, which  they  could  neither  enforce  nor  forget,  the 
Negroes  resented,  noisly  or  silently,  as  prudence  dictated, 
its  contemptuous  denial  by  the  whites;  and  these,  viewing 
this  shadowy  equality  as  an  insult  to  themselves,  had 
sought  by  all  the  machinery  of  local  law  to  emphasise 
and  perpetuate  their  own  superiority.  The  very  word 
"equality"  was  an  offence.  Society  went  back  to  Egypt 
and  India  for  its  models;  to  break  caste  was  a  greater 
sin  than  to  break  any  or  all  of  the  ten  commandments. 
White  and  coloured  children  studied  the  same  books  in 
different  schools.  White  and  black  people  rode  on  the 
same  trains  in  separate  cars.  Living  side  by  side,  and 
meeting  day  by  day,  the  law,  made  and  administered  by 
white  men,  had  built  a  wall  between  them. 

And  white  and  black  buried  their  dead  in  separate 
graveyards.  Not  until  they  reached  God's  presence  could 
they  stand  side  by  side  in  any  relation  of  equality.  There 
was  a  Negro  graveyard  in  Clarendon,  where,  as  a  matter 
of  course  the  coloured  dead  were  buried.  It  was  not  an 
ideal  locality.  The  land  was  low  and  swampy,  and  graves 
must  be  used  quickly,  ere  the  water  collected  in  them.  The 
graveyard  was  unfenced,  and  vagrant  cattle  browsed  upon 
its  rank  herbage.  The  embankment  of  the  railroad  en- 
croached upon  one  side  of  it,  and  the  passing  engines 
sifted  cinders  and  ashes  over  the  graves.  But  no  Negro 
had  ever  thought  of  burying  his  dead  elsewhere,  and  if 
their  cemetery  was  not  well  kept  up,  whose  fault  was  it 
but  their  own? 


264  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

The  proposition,  therefore,  of  a  white  man,  even  of 
Colonel  French's  standing,  to  bury  a  Negro  in  Oak  Ceme- 
tery, was  bound  to  occasion  comment,  if  nothing  more. 
There  was  indeed  more.  Several  citizens  objected  to  the 
profanation,  and  laid  their  protest  before  the  mayor,  who 
quietly  called  a  meeting  of  the  board  of  cemetery  trustees, 
of  which  he  was  the  chairman. 

The  trustees  were  five  in  number.  The  board,  with  the 
single  exception  of  the  mayor,  was  self -perpetuating,  and 
the  members  had  been  chosen,  as  vacancies  occurred  by 
death,  at  long  intervals,  from  among  the  aristocracy,  who 
had  always  controlled  it.  The  mayor,  a  member  and 
chairman  of  the  board  by  virtue  of  his  office,  had 
sprung  from  the  same  class  as  Fetters,  that  of  the  aspiring 
poor  whites,  who,  freed  from  the  moral  incubus  of 
slavery,  had  by  force  of  numbers  and  ambition  secured 
political  control  of  the  State  and  relegated  not  only  the 
Negroes,  but  the  old  master  class,  to  political  obscurity. 
A  shrewd,  capable  man  was  the  mayor,  who  despised 
Negroes  and  distrusted  aristocrats,  and  had  the  courage 
of  his  convictions.  He  represented  in  the  meeting  the 
protesting  element  of  the  community. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "Colonel  French  has  ordered 
this  Negro  to  be  buried  in  Oak  Cemetery.  We  all  appre- 
ciate the  colonel's  worth,  and  what  he  is  doing  for  the 
town.  But  he  has  lived  at  the  North  for  many  years, 
and  has  got  somewhat  out  of  our  way  of  thinking.  We  do 
not  want  to  buy  the  prosperity  of  this  town  at  the  price  of 
our  principles.  The  attitude  of  the  white  people  on  the 
Negro  question  is  fixed  and  determined  for  all  time,  and 
nothing  can  ever  alter  it.  To  bury  this  Negro  in  Oak 
Cemetery  is  against  our  principles." 

"The  mayor's  statement  of  the  rule  is  quite  correct," 
replied  old  General  Thornton,  a  member  of  the  board, 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  265 

"and  not  open  to  question.  But  all  rules  have  their 
exceptions.  It  was  against  the  law,  for  some  years  before 
the  war,  to  manumit  a  slave;  but  an  exception  to  that 
salutary  rule  was  made  in  case  a  Negro  should  render 
some  great  service  to  the  State  or  the  community.  You 
will  recall  that  when,  in  a  sister  State,  a  Negro  climbed 
the  steep  roof  of  St.  Michael's  church  and  at  the  risk  of 
his  own  life  saved  that  historic  structure,  the  pride  of 
Charleston,  from  destruction  by  fire,  the  muncipality 
granted  him  his  freedom." 

"And  we  all  remember,"  said  Mr.  Darden,  another  of 
the  trustees,  "we  all  remember,  at  least  I'm  sure  General 
Thornton  does,  old  Sally,  who  used  to  belong  to  the 
McRae  family,  and  was  a  member  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church,  and  who,  because  of  her  age  and  infirmities — 
she  was  hard  of  hearing  and  too  old  to  climb  the  stairs 
to  the  gallery — was  given  a  seat  in  front  of  the  pulpit,  on 
the  main  floor." 

"That  was  all  very  well,"  replied  the  mayor,  stoutly, 
"when  the  Negroes  belonged  to  you,  and  never  questioned 
your  authority.  But  times  are  different  now.  They 
think  themselves  as  good  as  we  are.  We  had  them  pretty 
well  in  hand  until  Colonel  French  came  around,  with  his 
schools,  and  his  high  wages,  and  now  they  are  getting  so 
fat  and  sassy  that  there'll  soon  be  no  living  with  them. 
The  last  election  did  something,  but  we'll  have  to  do  some- 
thing more,  and  that  soon,  to  keep  them  in  their  places. 
There's  one  in  jail  now,  alive,  who  has  shot  and  disfigured 
and  nearly  killed  two  good  white  men,  and  such  an  example 
of  social  equality  as  burying  one  in  a  white  graveyard  will 
demoralise  them  still  further.  We  must  preserve  the 
purity  and  prestige  of  our  race,  and  we  can  only  do  it  by 
keeping  the  Negroes  down." 

"After  all,"  said  another  member,  "the  purity  of  our 


266  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

race  is  not  apt  to  suffer  very  seriously  from  the  social 
equality  of  a  graveyard." 

"And  old  Peter  will  be  pretty  effectually  kept  down, 
wherever  he  is  buried,"  added  another. 

These  sallies  provoked  a  smile  which  lightened  the 
tension.  A  member  suggested  that  Colonel  French  be 
sent  for. 

"It  seems  a  pity  to  disturb  him  in  his  grief,"  said 
another. 

"It's  only  a  couple  of  squares,"  suggested  another. 
"Let's  call  in  a  body  and  pay  our  respects.  We  can 
bring  up  the  matter  incidentally,  while  there." 

The  muscles  of  the  mayor's  chin  hardened. 

"Colonel  French  has  never  been  at  my  house,"  he  said, 
"and  I  shouldn't  care  to  seem  to  intrude." 

"  Come  on,  mayor,"  said  Mr.  Darden,  taking  the  official 
by  the  arm,  "these  fine  distinctions  are  not  becoming  in 
the  presence  of  death.  The  colonel  will  be  glad  to  see 
you." 

The  mayor  could  not  resist  this  mark  of  intimacy  on 
the  part  of  one  of  the  old  aristocracy,  and  walked  some- 
what proudly  through  the  street  arm  in  arm  with  Mr. 
Darden.  They  paid  their  respects  to  the  colonel,  who 
was  bearing  up,  with  the  composure  to  be  expected  of  a 
man  of  strong  will  and  forceful  character,  under  a  grief 
of  which  he  was  exquisitely  sensible.  Touched  by  a  strong 
man's  emotion,  which  nothing  could  conceal,  no  one  had 
the  heart  to  mention,  in  the  presence  of  the  dead,  the  object 
of  their  visit,  and  they  went  away  without  giving  the  colonel 
any  inkling  that  his  course  had  been  seriously  criticised. 
Nor  was  the  meeting  resumed  after  they  left  the  house, 
even  the  mayor  seeming  content  to  let  the  matter  go  by 
default. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

Fortune  favoured  Caxton  in  the  matter  of  the  note. 
Fetters  was  in  Clarendon  the  following  morning.  Caxton 
saw  him  passing,  called  him  into  his  office,  and  produced 
the  note. 

"That's  no  good,"  said  Fetters  contemptuously.  "It 
was  outlawed  yesterday.  I  suppose  you  allowed  I'd 
forgotten  it.  On  the  contrary,  I've  a  memorandum  of  it 
in  my  pocketbook,  and  I  struck  it  off  the  list  last  night. 
I  always  pay  my  lawful  debts,  when  they're  properly 
demanded.  If  this  note  had  been  presented  yesterday, 
I'd  have  paid  it.  To-day  it's  too  late.  It  ain't  a  lawful 
debt." 

"Do  you  really  mean  to  say,  Mr.  Fetters,  that  you  have 
deliberately  robbed  those  poor  women  of  this  money  all 
these  years,  and  are  not  ashamed  of  it,  not  even  when 
you're  found  out,  and  that  you  are  going  to  take  refuge 
behind  the  statute?" 

"Now,  see  here,  Mr.  Caxton,"  returned  Fetters,  without 
apparent  emotion,  "you  want  to  be  careful  about  the 
language  you  use.  I  might  sue  you  for  slander.  You're 
a  young  man,  that  hopes  to  have  a  future  and  live  in  this 
county,  where  I  expect  to  live  and  have  law  business  done 
long  after  some  of  your  present  clients  have  moved  away. 
I  didn't  owe  the  estate  of  John  Treadwell  one  cent — you 
ought  to  be  lawyer  enough  to  know  that.  He  owed  me 
money,  and  paid  me  with  a  note.  I  collected  the  note.  I 
owed  him  money  and  paid  it  with  a  note.  Whoever  heard 
of  anybody's  paying  a  note  that  wasn't  presented?" 

267 


268  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

"It's  a  poor  argument,  Mr.  Fetters.  You  would  have 
let  those  ladies  starve  to  death  before  you  would  have  come 
forward  and  paid  that  debt." 

"They've  never  asked  me  for  charity,  so  I  wasn't  called 
on  to  offer  it.  And  you  know  now,  don't  you,  that  if  I'd 
paid  the  amount  of  that  note,  and  then  it  had  turned  up 
afterward  in  somebody  else's  hands,  I'd  have  had  to  pay  it 
over  again;  now  wouldn't  I?" 

Caxton  could  not  deny  it.  Fetters  had  robbed  the  Tread- 
well  estate,  but  his  argument  was  unanswerable. 

"Yes,"  said  Caxton,  "I  suppose  you  would." 

"I'm  sorry  for  the  women,"  said  Fetters,  "and  I've 
stood  ready  to  pay  that  note  all  these  years,  and  it  ain't  my 
fault  that  it  hasn't  been  presented.  Now  it's  outlawed, 
and  you  couldn't  expect  a  man  to  just  give  away  that  much 
money.  It  ain't  a  lawful  debt,  and  the  law's  good  enough 
for  me." 

"You're  awfully  sorry  for  the  ladies,  aren't  you?"  said 
Caxton,  with  thinly  veiled  sarcasm. 

"I  surely  am;  I'm  honestly  sorry  for  them." 

"And  you'd  pay  the  note  if  you  had  to,  wouldn't  you  ?" 
asked  Caxton. 

"I  surely  would.  As  I  say,  I  always  pay  my  legal 
debts." 

"All  right,"  said  Caxton  triumphantly,  "then  you'll  pay 
this.  I  filed  suit  against  you  yesterday,  which  takes  the 
case  out  of  the  statute." 

Fetters  concealed  his  discomfiture. 

"Well,"  he  said,  with  quiet  malignity,  "I've  nothing 
more  to  say  till  I  consult  my  lawyer.  But  I  want  to  tell 
you  one  thing.  You  are  ruining  a  fine  career  by  standing 
in  with  this  Colonel  French.  I  hear  his  son  was  killed 
to-day.  You  can  tell  him  I  say  it's  a  judgment  on  him; 
for  I  hold  him  responsible  for  my  son's  condition.     He 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  269 

came  down  here  and  tried  to  demoralise  the  labour  mar- 
ket. He  put  false  notions  in  the  niggers'  heads.  Then  he 
got  to  meddling  with  my  business,  trying  to  get  away  a 
nigger  whose  time  I  had  bought.  He  insulted  my  agent 
Turner,  and  came  all  the  way  down  to  Sycamore  and  tried 
to  bully  me  into  letting  the  nigger  loose,  and  of  course  I 
wouldn't  be  bullied.  Afterwards,  when  I  offered  to  let 
the  nigger  go,  the  colonel  wouldn't  have  it  so.  I  shall 
always  believe  he  bribed  one  of  my  men  to  get  the  nigger 
off,  and  then  turned  him  loose  to  run  amuck  among  the 
white  people  and  shoot  my  boy  and  my  overseer.  It  was 
a  low-down  performance,  and  unworthy  of  a  gentleman. 
No  really  white  man  would  treat  another  white  man  so. 
You  can  tell  him  I  say  it's  a  judgment  that's  fallen  on  him 
to-day,  and  that  it's  not  the  last  one,  and  that  he'll  be 
sorrier  yet  that  he  didn't  stay  where  he  was,  with  his 
nigger-lovin'  notions,  instead  of  comin'  back  down  here  to 
make  trouble  for  people  that  have  grown  up  with  the 
State  and  made  it  what  it  is." 

Caxton,  of  course,  did  not  deliver  the  message.  To  do 
so  would  have  been  worse  taste  than  Fetters  had  displayed 
in  sending  it.  Having  got  the  best  of  the  encounter,  Cax- 
ton had  no  objection  to  letting  his  defeated  antagonist  dis- 
charge his  venom  against  the  absent  colonel,  who  would 
never  know  of  it,  and  who  was  already  breasting  the  waves 
of  a  sorrow  so  deep  and  so  strong  as  almost  to  overwhelm 
him.  For  he  had  loved  the  boy;  all  his  hopes  had  centred 
around  this  beautiful  man  child,  who  had  promised  so  much 
that  was  good.  His  own  future  had  been  planned  with 
reference  to  him.  Now  he  was  dead,  and  the  bereaved 
father  gave  way  to  his  grief. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

i. 

The  funeral  took  place  next  day,  from  the  Episcopal 
Church,  in  which  communion  the  little  boy  had  been 
baptised,  and  of  which  old  Peter  had  always  been  an 
humble  member,  faithfully  appearing  every  Sunday 
morning  in  his  seat  in  the  gallery,  long  after  the  rest  of  his 
people  had  deserted  it  for  churches  of  their  own.  On  this 
occasion  Peter  had,  for  the  first  time,  a  place  on  the  main 
floor,  a  little  to  one  side  of  the  altar,  in  front  of  which, 
banked  with  flowers,  stood  the  white  velvet  casket  which 
contained  all  that  was  mortal  of  little  Phil.  The  same 
beautiful  sermon  answered  for  both.  In  touching  words, 
the  rector,  a  man  of  culture,  taste  and  feeling,  and  a  faith- 
ful servant  of  his  Master,  spoke  of  the  sweet  young  life 
brought  to  so  untimely  an  end,  and  pointed  the  bereaved 
father  to  the  best  source  of  consolation.  He  paid  a  brief 
tribute  to  the  faithful  servant  and  humble  friend,  to  whom, 
though  black  and  lowly,  the  white  people  of  the  town  were 
glad  to  pay  this  signal  tribute  of  respect  and  appreciation 
for  his  heroic  deed.  The  attendance  at  the  funeral,  while 
it  might  have  been  larger,  was  composed  of  the  more  refined 
and  cultured  of  the  townspeople,  from  whom,  indeed,  the 
church  derived  most  of  its  membership  and  support;  and 
the  gallery  overflowed  with  coloured  people,  whose  hearts 
had  warmed  to  the  great  honour  thus  paid  to  one  of  their 
race.  Four  young  white  men  bore  Phil's  body  and  the 
six  pallbearers  of  old  Peter  were  from  among  the  best 
white  people  of  the  town. 

The  double  interment  was  made  in  Oak  Cemetery. 

270 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  271 

Simultaneously  both  bodies  were  lowered  to  their  last 
resting-place.  Simultaneously  ashes  were  consigned  to 
ashes  and  dust  to  dust.  The  earth  was  heaped  above  the 
graves.  The  mound  above  little  Phil's  was  buried  with 
flowers,  and  old  Peter's  was  not  neglected.  * 

Beyond  the  cemetery  wall,  a  few  white  men  of  the  com- 
moner sort  watched  the  proceedings  from  a  distance,  and 
eyed  with  grim  hostility  the  Negroes  who  had  followed  the 
procession.  They  had  no  part  nor  parcel  in  this  senti- 
mental folly,  nor  did  they  approve  of  it — in  fact  they  dis- 
approved of  it  very  decidedly.  Among  them  was  the 
colonel's  discharged  foreman,  Jim  Green,  who  was  pro- 
nounced in  his  denunciation. 

"Colonel  French  is  an  enemy  of  his  race,"  he  declared 
to  his  sympathetic  following.  "He  hires  niggers  when 
white  men  are  idle,  and  pays  them  more  than  white  men 
who  work  are  earning.  And  now  he  is  burying  them  with 
white  people." 

When  the  group  around  the  grave  began  to  disperse,  the 
little  knot  of  disgruntled  spectators  moved  sullenly  away. 
In  the  evening  they  might  have  been  seen,  most  of  them, 
around  Clay  Jackson's  barroom.  Turner,  the  foreman 
at  Fetters's  convict  farm,  was  in  town  that  evening,  and 
Jackson's  was  his  favourite  haunt.  For  some  reason 
Turner  was  more  sociable  than  usual,  and  liquor  flowed 
freely,  at  his  expense.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  intem- 
perate talk,  concerning  the  Negro  in  jail  for  shooting 
Haines  and  young  Fetters,  and  concerning  Colonel  French 
as  the  protector  of  Negroes  and  the  enemy  of  white  men. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

At  the  same  time  that  the  colonel,  dry-eyed  and  heavy- 
hearted,  had  returned  to  his  empty  house  to  nurse  his  grief, 
another  series  of  events  was  drawing  to  a  climax  in  the 
dilapidated  house  on  Mink  Run.  Even  while  the  preacher 
was  saying  the  last  words  over  little  Phil's  remains,  old 
Malcolm  Dudley's  illness  had  taken  a  sudden  and  violent 
turn.  He  had  been  sinking  for  several  days,  but  the 
decline  had  been  gradual,  and  there  had  seemed  no  par- 
ticular reason  for  alarm.  But  during  the  funeral  exercises 
Ben  had  begun  to  feel  uneasy — some  obscure  premonition 
warned  him  to  hurry  homeward. 

As  soon  as  the  funeral  was  over  he  spoke  to  Dr.  Price, 
who  had  been  one  of  the  pallbearers,  and  the  doctor  had 
promised  to  be  at  Mink  Run  in  a  little  while.  Ben  rode 
home  as  rapidly  as  he  could;  as  he  went  up  the  lane  toward 
the  house  a  Negro  lad  came  forward  to  take  charge  of  the 
tired  horse,  and  Ben  could  see  from  the  boy's  expression 
that  he  had  important  information  to  communicate. 

"Yo'  uncle  is  monst'ous  low,  sir,"  said  the  boy.  "You 
bettah  go  in  an'  see  'im  quick,  er  you'll  be  too  late.  Dey 
am*  nobody  wid  'im  but  ole  Aun'  Viney." 

Ben  hurried  into  the  house  and  to  his  uncle's  room, 
where  Malcolm  Dudley  lay  dying.  Outside,  the  sun  was 
setting,  and  his  red  rays,  shining  through  the  trees  into  the 
open  window,  lit  the  stage  for  the  last  scene  of  this  belated 
drama.  When  Ben  entered  the  room,  the  sweat  of  death 
had  gathered  on  the  old  man's  brow,  but  his  eyes,  clear 
with  the  light  of  reason,  were  fixed  upon  old  Viney,  who 

272 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  273 

stood  by  the  bedside.  The  two  were  evidently  so  absorbed 
in  their  own  thoughts  as  to  be  oblivious  to  anything  else, 
and  neither  of  them  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  Ben, 
or  to  the  scared  Negro  lad,  who  had  followed  him  and 
stood  outside  the  door.  But  marvellous  to  hear,  Viney 
was  talking,  strangely,  slowly,  thickly,  but  passionately 
and  distinctly. 

"You  had  me  whipped,"  she  said.  "Do  you  remember 
that?  You  had  me  whipped — whipped — whipped — by  a 
poor  white  dog  I  had  despised  and  spurned!  You  had 
said  that  you  loved  me,  and  you  had  promised  to  free  me — 
and  you  had  me  whipped!     But  I  have  had  my  revenge!" 

Her  voice  shook  with  passion,  a  passion  at  which  Ben 
wondered.  That  his  uncle  and  she  had  once  been  young 
he  knew,  and  that  their  relations  had  once  been  closer  than 
those  of  master  and  servant;  but  this  outbreak  of  feeling 
from  the  wrinkled  old  mulattress  seemed  as  strange  and 
weird  to  Ben  as  though  a  stone  image  had  waked  to  speech. 
Spellbound,  he  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  listened  to  this 
ghost  of  a  voice  long  dead. 

"Your  uncle  came  with  the  money  and  left  it,  and  went 
away.  Only  he  and  I  knew  where  it  was.  But  I  never 
told  you !  I  could  have  spoken  at  any  time  for  twenty-five 
years,  but  I  never  told  you !  I  have  waited — I  have  waited 
for  this  moment!  I  have  gone  into  the  woods  and  fields 
and  talked  to  myself  by  the  hour,  that  I  might  not  forget 
how  to  talk — and  I  have  waited  my  turn,  and  it  is  here 
and  now!" 

Ben  hung  breathlessly  upon  her  words.  He  drew  back 
beyond  her  range  of  vision,lest  she  might  see  him,  and  the 
spell  be  broken.  Now,  he  thought,  she  would  tell  where 
the  gold  was  hidden! 

"He  came,"  she  said,  "and  left  the  gold — two  heavy 
bags  of  it,  and  a  letter  for  you.     An  hour  later  he  came 


274  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

back  and  took  it  all  away,  except  the  letter!  The  money 
was  here  one  hour,  but  in  that  hour  you  had  me  whipped, 
and  for  that  you  have  spent  twenty-five  years  in  looking 
for  nothing — something  that  was  not  here!  I  have  had 
my  revenge!  For  twenty-five  years  I  have  watched  you 
look  for — nothing;  have  seen  you  waste  your  time,  your 
property,  your  life,  your  mind — for  nothing!  For  ah, 
Mars'  Ma'colm,  you  had  me  whipped — by  another  man! " 

A  shadow  of  reproach  crept  into  the  old  man's  eyes, 
over  which  the  mists  of  death  were  already  gathering. 

"Yes,  Viney,"  he  whispered,  "you  have  had  your 
revenge!  But  I  was  sorry,  Viney,  for  what  I  did,  and 
you  were  not.  And  I  forgive  you,  Viney;  but  you  are 
unforgiving — even  in  the  presence  of  death." 

His  voice  failed,  and  his  eyes  closed  for  the  last  time. 
When  she  saw  that  he  was  dead,  by  a  strange  revulsion 
of  feeling  the  wall  of  outraged  pride  and  hatred  and 
revenge,  built  upon  one  brutal  and  bitterly  repented  mis- 
take, and  labouriously  maintained  for  half  a  lifetime  in 
her  woman's  heart  that  even  slavery  could  not  crush, 
crumbled  and  fell  and  let  pass  over  it  in  one  great  and  final 
flood  the  pent-up  passions  of  the  past.  Bursting  into  tears 
— strange  tears  from  eyes  that  had  long  forgot  to  weep — 
old  Viney  threw  herself  down  upon  her  knees  by  the 
bedside,  and  seizing  old  Malcolm's  emaciated  hand  in  both 
her  own,  covered  it'  with  kisses,  fervent  kisses,  the  ghosts 
of  the  passionate  kisses  of  their  distant  youth. 

With  a  feeling  that  his  presence  was  something  like 
sacrilege,  Ben  stole  away  and  left  her  with  her  dead — the 
dead  master  and  the  dead  past — and  thanked  God  that 
he  lived  in  another  age,  and  had  escaped  this  sin. 

As  he  wandered  through  the  old  house,  a  veil  seemed  to 
fall  from  his  eyes.  How  old  everything  was,  how  shrunken 
and  decaYed!    The  sheen  of  the  hidden  gold  had  gilded 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  275 

the  dilapidated  old  house,  the  neglected  plantation,  his 
own  barren  life.  Now  that  it  was  gone,  things  appeared 
in  their  true  light.  Fortunately  he  was  young  enough  to 
retrieve  much  of  what  had  been  lost.  When  the  old  man 
was  buried,  he  would  settle  the  estate,  sell  the  land,  make 
some  provision  for  Aunt  Viney,  and  then,  with  what  was 
left,  go  out  into  the  world  and  try  to  make  a  place  for  him- 
self and  Graciella.  For  life  intrudes  its  claims  even  into 
the  presence  of  death. 

When  the  doctor  came,  a  little  later,  Ben  went  with  him 
into  the  death  chamber.  Viney  was  still  kneeling  by  her 
master's  bedside,  but  strangely  still  and  silent.  The 
doctor  laid  his  hand  on  hers  and  old  Malcolm's,  which  had 
remained  clasped  together. 

"They  are  both  dead,"  he  declared.  "I  knew  their 
story;  my  father  told  it  to  me  many  years  ago." 

Ben  related  what  he  had  overheard. 

"I'm  not  surprised,"  said  the  doctor.  "My  father 
attended  her  when  she  had  the  stroke,  and  after.  He 
always  maintained  that  Viney  could  speak — if  she  had 
wished  to  speak." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

The  colonel's  eyes  were  heavy  with  grief  that  night,  and 
yet  he  lay  awake  late,  and  with  his  sorrow  were  mingled 
many  consoling  thoughts.  The  people,  his  people,  had 
been  kind,  aye,  more  than  kind.  Their  warm  hearts  had 
sympathised  with  his  grief.  He  had  sometimes  been 
impatient  of  their  conservatism,  their  narrowness,  their 
unreasoning  pride  of  opinion;  but  in  his  bereavement 
they  had  manifested  a  feeling  that  it  would  be  beautiful 
to  remember  all  the  days  of  his  life.  All  the  people,  white 
and  black,  had  united  to  honour  his  dead. 

He  had  wished  to  help  them — had  tried  already.  He 
had  loved  the  town  as  the  home  of  his  ancestors,  which 
enshrined  their  ashes.  He  would  make  of  it  a  monument 
to  mark  his  son's  resting  place.  His  fight  against  Fetters 
and  what  he  represented  should  take  on  a  new  character; 
henceforward  it  should  be  a  crusade  to  rescue  from 
threatened  barbarism  the  land  which  contained  the  tombs 
of  his  loved  ones.  Nor  would  he  be  alone  in  the  struggle, 
which  he  now  clearly  foresaw  would  be  a  long  one. 
The  dear,  good  woman  he  had  asked  to  be  his  wife  could 
help  him.  He  needed  her  clear,  spiritual  vision;  and  in 
his  lifelong  sorrow  he  would  need  her  sympathy  and  com- 
panionship; for  she  had  loved  the  child  and  would  share 
his  grief.  She  knew  the  people  better  than  he,  and  was 
in  closer  touch  with  them;  she  could  help  him  in  his  schemes 
of  benevolence,  and  suggest  new  ways  to  benefit  the  people. 
Phil's  mother  was  buried  far  away,  among  her  own  people; 
could  he  consult  her,  he  felt  sure  she  would  prefer  to  remain 

276 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  277 

there.  Here  she  would  be  an  alien  note;  and  when  Laura 
died  she  could  lie  with  them  and  still  be  in  her  own  place. 

"Have  you  heard  the  news,  sir,"  asked  the  housekeeper, 
when  he  came  down  to  breakfast  the  next  morning. 

"No,  Mrs.  Hughes,  what  is  it?" 

"They  lynched  the  Negro  who  was  in  jail  for  shooting 
young  Mr.  Fetters  and  the  other  man." 

The  colonel  hastily  swallowed  a  cup  of  coffee  and  went 
down  town.  It  was  only  a  short  walk.  Already  there 
were  excited  crowds  upon  the  street,  discussing  the  events 
of  the  night.  The  colonel  sought  Caxton,  who  was  just 
entering  his  office. 

"They've  done  it,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"So  I  understand.     When  did  it  happen?" 

"About  one  o'clock  last  night.  A  crowd  came  in  from 
Sycamore — not  all  at  once,  but  by  twos  and  threes,  and 
got  together  in  Clay  Johnson's  saloon,  with  Ben  Green, 
your  discharged  foreman,  and  a  lot  of  other  riffraff,  and 
went  to  the  sheriff,  and  took  the  keys,  and  took  Johnson 
and  carried  him  out  to  where  the  shooting  was,  and " 

"Spare  me  the  details.     He  is  dead?" 

"Yes." 

A  rope,  a  tree — a  puff  of  smoke,  a  flash  of  flame — or  a 
barbaric  orgy  of  fire  and  blood — what  matter  which? 
At  the  end  there  was  a  lump  of  clay,  and  a  hundred  mur- 
derers where  there  had  been  one  before. 

"Can  we  do  anything  to  punish  this  crime?" 

"We  can  try." 

And  they  tried.  The  colonel  went  to  the  sheriff.  The 
sheriff  said  he  had  yielded  to  force,  but  he  never  would 
have  dreamed  of  shooting  to  defend  a  worthless  Negro 
who  had  maimed  a  good  white  man,  had  nearly  killed 
another,  and  had  declared  a  vendetta  against  the  white 
race. 


278  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

By  noon  the  colonel  had  interviewed  as  many  prominent 
men  as  he  could  find,  and  they  became  increasingly  diffi- 
cult to  find  as  it  became  known  that  he  was  seeking  them. 
The  town,  he  said,  had  been  disgraced,  and  should  redeem 
itself  by  prosecuting  the  lynchers.  He  may  as  well  have 
talked  to  the  empty  air.  The  trail  of  Fetters  was  all  over 
the  town.  Some  of  the  officials  owed  Fetters  money; 
others  were  under  political  obligations  to  him.  Others 
were  plainly  of  the  opinion  that  the  Negro  got  no  more 
than  he  deserved;  such  a  wretch  was  not  fit  to  live.  The 
coroner's  jury  returned  a  verdict  of  suicide,  a  grim  joke 
which  evoked  some  laughter.  Doctor  McKenzie,  to 
whom  the  colonel  expressed  his  feelings,  and  whom  he 
asked  to  throw  the  influence  of  his  church  upon  the 
side  of  law  and  order,  said: 

"It  is  too  bad.  I  am  sorry,  but  it  is  done.  Let  it 
rest.     No  good  can  ever  come  of  stirring  it  up  further." 

Later  in  the  day  there  came  news  that  the  lynchers, 
after  completing  their  task,  had  proceeded  to  the  Dudley 
plantation  and  whipped  all  the  Negroes  who  did  not  learn 
of  their  coming  in  time  to  escape,  the  claim  being  that 
Johnson  could  not  have  maintained  himself  in  hiding 
without  their  connivance,  and  that  they  were  therefore 
parties  to  his  crimes. 

The  colonel  felt  very  much  depressed  when  he  went  to 
bed  that  night,  and  lay  for  a  long  time  turning  over  in 
his  mind  the  problem  that  confronted  him. 

So  far  he  had  been  beaten,  except  in  the  matter  of  the 
cotton  mill,  which  was  yet  unfinished.  His  efforts  in 
Bud  Johnson's  behalf — the  only  thing  he  had  undertaken 
to  please  the  woman  he  loved,  had  proved  abortive.  His 
promise  to  the  teacher — well,  he  had  done  his  part,  but 
to  no  avail.  He  would  be  ashamed  to  meet  Taylor  face 
to  face.    With  what  conscience  could  a  white  man  in 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  279 

Clarendon  ever  again  ask  a  Negro  to  disclose  the  name 
or  hiding  place  of  a  coloured  criminal  ?  In  the  effort  to 
punish  the  lynchers  he  stood,  to  all  intents  and  purposes, 
single-handed  and  alone;  and  without  the  support  of  public 
opinion  he  could  do  nothing. 

The  colonel  was  beaten,  but  not  dismayed.  Perhaps 
God  in  his  wisdom  had  taken  Phil  away,  that  his  father 
might  give  himself  more  completely  and  single-mindedly 
to  the  battle  before  him.  Had  Phil  lived,  a  father  might 
have  hesitated  to  expose  a  child's  young  and  impression- 
able mind  to  the  things  which  these  volcanic  outbursts 
of  passion  between  mismated  races  might  cause  at  any 
unforeseen  moment.  Now  that  the  way  was  clear,  he 
could  go  forward,  hand  in  hand  with  the  good  woman 
who  had  promised  to  wed  him,  in  the  work  he  had  laid 
out.  He  would  enlist  good  people  to  demand  better  laws, 
under  which  Fetters  and  his  kind  would  find  it  harder  to 
prey  upon  the  weak. 

Diligently  he  would  work  to  lay  wide  and  deep  the 
foundations  of  prosperity,  education  and  enlightenment, 
upon  which  should  rest  justice,  humanity  and  civic 
righteousness.  In  this  he  would  find  a  worthy  career. 
Patiently  would  he  await  the  results  of  his  labours,  and  if 
they  came  not  in  great  measure  in  his  own  lifetime,  he 
would  be  content  to  know  that  after  years  would  see 
their  full  fruition. 

So  that  night  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  long  answer  to 
Kirby's  letter,  in  which  he  told  him  of  Phil's  death  and 
burial,  and  his  own  grief.  Something  there  was,  too,  of 
his  plans  for  the  future,  including  his  marriage  to  a  good 
woman  who  would  help  him  in  them.  Kirby,  he  said, 
had  offered  him  a  golden  opportunity  for  which  he  thanked 
him  heartily.  The  scheme  was  good  enough  for  any  one 
to  venture  upon.    But  to  carry  out  his  own  plans,  would 


280  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

require  that  he  invest  his  money  in  the  State  of  his  resi- 
dence, where  there  were  many  openings  for  capital  that 
could  afford  to  wait  upon  development  for  large  returns. 
He  sent  his  best  regards  to  Mrs.  Jerviss,  and  his  assurance 
that  Kirby's  plan  was  a  good  one.  Perhaps  Kirby  and 
she  alone  could  handle  it;  if  not,  there  must  be  plenty 
of  money  elsewhere  for  so  good  a  thing. 

He  sealed  the  letter,  and  laid  it  aside  to  be  mailed  in 
the  morning.  To  his  mind  it  had  all  the  force  of  a  final 
renunciation,  a  severance  of  the  last  link  that  bound  him 
to  his  old  life. 

Long  the  colonel  lay  thinking,  after  he  retired  to  rest, 
and  the  muffled  striking  of  the  clock  downstairs  had 
marked  the  hour  of  midnight  ere  he  fell  asleep.  And  he 
had  scarcely  dozed  away,  when  he  was  awakened  by  a 
scraping  noise,  as  though  somewhere  in  the  house  a  heavy 
object  was  being  drawn  across  the  floor.  The  sound 
was  not  repeated,  however,  and  thinking  it  some  trick 
of  the  imagination,  he  soon  slept  again. 

As  the  colonel  slept  this  second  time,  he  dreamed  of  a 
regenerated  South,  filled  with  thriving  industries,  and 
thronged  with  a  prosperous  and  happy  people,  where 
every  man,  having  enough  for  his  needs,  was  willing  that 
every  other  man  should  have  the  same;  where  law  and 
order  should  prevail  unquestioned,  and  where  every  man 
could  enter,  through  the  golden  gate  of  hope,  the  field 
of  opportunity,  where  lay  the  prizes  of  life,  which  all 
might  have  an  equal  chance  to  win  or  lose. 

For  even  in  his  dreams  the  colonel's  sober  mind  did 
not  stray  beyond  the  bounds  of  reason  and  experience. 
That  all  men  would  ever  be  equal  he  did  not  even  dream; 
there  would  always  be  the  strong  and  the  weak,  the  wise 
and  the  foolish.  But  that  each  man,  in  his  little  life  in 
this  our  little  world  might  be  able  to  make  the  most  of 


THE   COLONEL'S  DREAM  281 

himself,  was  an  ideal   which  even  the  colonel's   waking 
hours  would  not  have  repudiated. 

Following  this  pleasing  thread  with  the  unconscious 
rapidity  of  dreams,  the  colonel  passed,  in  a  few  brief 
minutes,  through  a  long  and  useful  life  to  a  happy  end, 
when  he  too  rested  with  his  fathers,  by  the  side  of  his  son, 
and  on  his  tomb  was  graven  what  was  said  of  Ben  Adhem : 
"Here  lies  one  who  loved  his  fellow  men,"  and  the  further 
words,  "and  tried  to  make  them  happy." 

Shortly  after  dawn  there  was  a  loud  rapping  a-  the 
colonel's  door: 

"Come  downstairs  and  look  on  de  piazza,  Colonel," 
said  the  agitated  voice  of  the  servant  who  had  knocked. 
"Come  quick,  suh." 

There  was  a  vague  terror  in  the  man's  voice  that  stirred 
the  colonel  strangely.  He  threw  on  a  dressing  gown  and 
hastened  downstairs,  and  to  the  front  door  of  the  hall, 
which  stood  open.  A  handsome  mahogany  burial  casket, 
stained  with  earth  and  disfigured  by  rough  handling, 
rested  upon  the  floor  of  the  piazza,  where  it  had  been 
deposited  during  the  night.  Conspicuously  nailed  to 
the  coffin  lid  was  a  sheet  of  white  paper,  upon  which  were 
some  lines  rudely  scrawled  in  a  handwriting  that  matched 
the  spelling: 

Kurnell  French:  Take  notis.  Berry  yore  ole 
nigger  somewhar  else.  He  can't  stay  in  Oak  Semi- 
tury.  The  majority  of  the  white  people  of  this 
town,  who  dident  tend  yore  nigger  funarl,  woant 
have  him  there.  Niggers  by  there  selves,  white 
peepul  by  there  selves,  and  them  that  lives  in  our 
town  must  bide  by  our  rules.     By  order  of 

Ctjmittt. 


282  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

The  colonel  left  the  coffin  standing  on  the  porch,  where 
it  remained  all  day,  an  object  of  curious  interest  to  the 
scores  and  hundreds  who  walked  by  to  look  at  it,  for  the 
news  spread  quickly  through  the  town.  No  one,  however, 
came  in.  If  there  were  those  who  reprobated  the  action 
they  were  silent.  The  mob  spirit,  which  had  broken 
out  in  the  lynching  of  Johnson,  still  dominated  the  town, 
and  no  one  dared  to  speak  against  it. 

As  soon  as  Colonel  French  had  dressed  and  break- 
fasted, he  drove  over  to  the  cemetery.  Those  who  had 
exhumed  old  Peter's  remains  had  not  been  unduly  careful. 
The  carelessly  excavated  earth  had  been  scattered  here 
and  there  over  the  lot.  The  flowers  on  old  Peter's  grave 
and  that  of  little  Phil  had  been  trampled  under  foot — 
whether  wantonly  or  not,  inevitably,  in  the  execution  of 
the  ghoulish  task. 

The  colonel's  heart  hardened  as  he  stood  by  his  son's 
grave.  Then  he  took  a  long  lingering  look  at  the  tombs 
of  his  ancestors  and  turned  away  with  an  air  of  finality. 

From  the  cemetery  he  went  to  the  undertaker's,  and  left 
an  order;  thence  to  the  telegraph  office,  from  which  he  sent 
a  message  to  his  former  partner  in  New  York;  and  thence 
to  the  Treadwells'. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 

Miss  Laura  came  forward  with  outstretched  hands 
and  tear-stained  eyes  to  greet  him. 

"Henry,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  am  shocked  and  sorry, 
I  cannot  tell  you  how  much!  Nor  do  I  know  what  else 
to  say,  except  that  the  best  people  do  not — cannot — could 
not — approve  of  it!" 

"The  best  people,  Laura,"  he  said  with  a  weary  smile, 
"are  an  abstraction.  When  any  deviltry  is  on  foot  they 
are  never  there  to  prevent  it — they  vanish  into  thin  air 
at  its  approach.  When  it  is  done,  they  excuse  it;  and  they 
make  no  effort  to  punish  it.  So  it  is  not  too  much  to  say 
that  what  they  permit  they  justify,  and  they  cannot  shirk 
the  responsibility.  To  mar  the  living — it  is  the  history 
of  life — but  to  make  war  upon  the  dead! —  I  am  going 
away,  Laura,  never  to  return.  My  dream  of  usefulness 
is  over.  To-night  I  take  away  my  dead  and  shake  the 
dust  of  Clarendon  from  my  feet  forever.  Will  you  come 
with  me?" 

"Henry,"  she  said,  and  each  word  tore  her  heart,  "I 
have  been  expecting  this — since  I  heard.  But  I  cannot 
go;  my  duty  calls  me  here.  My  mother  could  not  be 
happy  anywhere  else,  nor  would  I  fit  into  any  other  life. 
And  here,  too,  I  am  useful — and  may  still  be  useful — and 
should  be  missed.  I  know  your  feelings,  and  would  not 
try  to  keep  you.  But,  oh,  Henry,  if  all  of  those  who  love 
justice  and  practise  humanity  should  go  away,  what  would 
become  of  us?" 


283 


284  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

"I  leave  to-night,"  he  returned,  "and  it  is  your  right 
to  go  with  me,  or  to  come  to  me." 

"No,  Henry,  nor  am  I  sure  that  you  would  wish  me  to. 
It  was  for  the  old  town's  sake  that  you  loved  me.  I  was 
a  part  of  your  dream — a  part  of  the  old  and  happy  past, 
upon  which  you  hoped  to  build,  as  upon  the  foundations 
of  the  old  mill,  a  broader  and  a  fairer  structure.  Do  you 
remember  what  you  told  me,  that  night — that  happy 
night — that  you  loved  me  because  in  me  you  found  the 
embodiment  of  an  ideal?  Well,  Henry,  that  is  why  I 
did  not  wish  to  make  our  engagement  known,  for  I  knew, 
I  felt,  the  difficulty  of  your  task,  and  I  foresaw  that  you 
might  be  disappointed,  and  I  feared  that  if  your  ideal 
should  be  wrecked,  you  might  find  me  a  burden.  I  loved 
you,  Henry — I  seem  to  have  always  loved  you,  but  I 
would  not  burden  you." 

"No,  no,  Laura — not  so!  not  so!" 

"And  you  wanted  me  for  Phil's  sake,  whom  we  both 
loved;  and  now  that  your  dream  is  over,  and  Phil  is  gone, 
I  should  only  remind  you  of  where  you  lost  him,  and  of 
your  disappointment,  and  of — this  other  thing,  and  I 
could  not  be  sure  that  you  loved  me  or  wanted  me." 

"Surely  you  cannot  doubt  it,  Laura?"  His  voice  was 
firm,  but  to  her  sensitive  spirit  it  did  not  carry  conviction. 

"You  remembered  me  from  my  youth,"  she  continued 
tremulously  but  bravely,  "and  it  was  the  image  in  your 
memory  that  you  loved.  And  now,  when  you  go  away, 
the  old  town  will  shrink  and  fade  from  your  memory 
and  your  heart  and  you  will  have  none  but  harsh  thoughts 
of  it;  nor  can  I  blame  you  greatly,  for  you  have  grown  far 
away  from  us,  and  we  shall  need  many  years  to  overtake 
you.  Nor  do  you  need  me,  Henry — I  am  too  old  to  learn 
new  ways,  and  elsewhere  than  here  I  should  be  a  hindrance 
to  you  rather  than  a  help.     But  in  the  larger  life  to  which 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  285 

you  go,  think  of  me  now  and  then  as  one  who  loves  you 
still,  and  who  will  try,  in  her  poor  way,  with  such  patience 
as  she  has,  to  carry  on  the  work  which  you  have  begun, 
and  which  you — Oh,  Henry!" 

He  divined  her  thought,  though  her  tear-filled  eyes 
spoke  sorrow  rather  than  reproach. 

"Yes,"  he  said  sadly,  "which  I  have  abandoned.  Yes, 
Laura,  abandoned,  fully  and  forever." 

The  colonel  was  greatly  moved,  but  his  resolution  re- 
mained unshaken. 

"Laura,"  he  said,  taking  both  her  hands  in  his,  "I 
swear  that  I  should  be  glad  to  have  you  with  me.  Come 
away!    The  place  is  not  fit  for  you  to  live  in!" 

"No,  Henry!  it  cannot  be!  I  could  not  go!  My  duty 
holds  me  here!  God  would  not  forgive  me  if  I  abandoned 
it.  Go  your  way;  live  your  life.  Marry  some  other 
woman,  if  you  must,  who  will  make  you  happy.  But  I 
shall  keep,  Henry — nothing  can  ever  take  aWay  from  me 
— the  memory  of  one  happy  summer." 

"No,  no,  Laura,  it  need  not  be  so!  I  shall  write  you. 
You'll  think  better  of  it.  But  I  go  to-night — not  one  hour 
longer  than  I  must,  will  I  remain  in  this  town.  I  must 
bid  your  mother  and  Graciella  good-bye." 

He  went  into  the  house.  Mrs.  Treadwell  was  excited 
and  sorry,  and  would  have  spoken  at  length,  but  the 
colonel's  farewells   were   brief. 

"I  cannot  stop  to  say  more  than  good-bye,  dear  Mrs. 
Treadwell.  I  have  spent  a  few  happy  months  in  my  old 
home,  and  now  I  am  going  away.  Laura  will  tell  you  the 
rest." 

Graciella  was  tearfully  indignant. 

"It  was  a  shame!"  she  declared.  "Peter  was  a  good 
old  nigger,  and  it  wouldn't  have  done  anybody  any  harm 
to  leave  him  there.     I'd  rather  be  buried  beside  old  Peter 


286  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

than  near  any  of  the  poor  white  trash  that  dug  him  up — 
so  there!    I'm  so  sorry  you're  going  away;  but  I  hope, 
sometime,"  she  added  stoutly,  "to  see  you  in  New  York  I 
Don't  forget!" 
"I'll  send  you  my  address,"  said  the  colonel. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

It  was  a  few  weeks  later.  Old  Ralph  Dudley  and  Viney 
had  been  buried.  Ben  Dudley  had  ridden  in  from  Mink 
Run,  had  hitched  his  horse  in  the  back  yard  as  usual,  and 
was  seated  on  the  top  step  of  the  piazza  beside  Graciella. 
His  elbows  rested  on  his  knees,  and  his  chin  upon  his  hand. 
Graciella  had  unconsciously  imitated  his  drooping  atti- 
tude. Both  were  enshrouded  in  the  deepest  gloom,  and 
had  been  sunk,  for  several  minutes,  in  a  silence  equally 
profound.     Graciella  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Well,  then,"  she  said  with  a  deep  sigh,  "there  is  abso- 
lutely nothing  left?" 

"Not  a  thing,"  he  groaned  hopelessly,  "except  my 
horse  and  my  clothes,  and  a  few  odds  and  ends  which 
belong  to  me.  Fetters  will  have  the  land — there's  not 
enough  to  pay  the  mortgages  against  it,  and  I'm  in  debt 
for  the  funeral  expenses." 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"Gracious  knows — I  wish  I  did!  I  came  over  to  con- 
sult the  family.  I  have  no  trade,  no  profession,  no  land 
and  no  money.  I  can  get  a  job  at  braking  on  the  rail- 
road— or  may  be  at  clerking  in  a  store.  I'd  have  asked 
the  colonel  for  something  in  the  mill — but  that  chance 
is  gone." 

"Gone,"  echoed  Graciella,  gloomily.  "I  see  my 
fate!  I  shall  marry  you,  because  I  can't  help  loving  you, 
and  couldn't  live  without  you;  and  I  shall  never  get  to 
New  York,  but  be,  all  my  life,  a  poor  man's  wife — a  poor 
white  man's  wife." 

287 


288  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

"No,  Graciella,  we  might  be  poor,  but  not  poor-white  1 
Our  blood  will  still  be  of  the  best." 

"It  will  be  all  the  same.  Blood  without  money  may 
count  for  one  generation,  but  it  won't  hold  out  for  two." 

They  relapsed  into  a  gloom  so  profound,  so  rayless, 
that  they  might  almost  be  said  to  have  reveled  in  it. 
It  was  lightened,  or  at  least  a  diversion  was  created 
by  Miss  Laura's  opening  the  garden  gate  and  coming 
up  the  walk.  Ben  rose  as  she  approached,  and  Graciella 
looked  up. 

"I  have  been  to  the  post-office,"  said  Miss  Laura. 
"  Here  is  a  letter  for  you,  Ben,  addressed  in  my  care.  It 
has  the  New  York  postmark." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Laura." 

Eagerly  Ben's  hand  tore  the  envelope  and  drew  out  the 
enclosure.  Swiftly  his  eyes  devoured  the  lines;  they  were 
typewritten  and  easy  to  follow. 

" Glory ! "  he  shouted,  "glory  hallelujah !    Listen ! " 

He  read  the  letter  aloud,  while  Graciella  leaned  against 
his  shoulder  and  feasted  her  eyes  upon  the  words.  The 
letter  was  from  Colonel  French : 

"M y  dear  Ben:  I  was  very  much  impressed  with 
the  model  of  a  cotton  gin  and  press  which  I  saw  you 
exhibit  one  day  at  Mrs.  Treadwells'.  You  have  a  fine 
genius  for  mechanics,  and  the  model  embodies,  I  think, 
a  clever  idea,  which  is  worth  working  up.  If  your 
uncle's  death  has  left  you  free  to  dispose  of  your  time, 
I  should  like  to  have  you  come  on  to  New  York  with 
the  model,  and  we  will  take  steps  to  have  the  invention 
patented  at  once,  and  form  a  company  for  its  manu- 
facture. As  an  evidence  of  good  faith,  I  enclose  my 
draft  for  five  hundred  dollars,  which  can  be  properly 
accounted  for  in  our  future  arrangements." 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  289 

"O  Ben!"  gasped  Graciella,  in  one  long  drawn  out, 
ecstatic  sigh. 

"O  Graciella!"  exclaimed  Ben,  as  he  threw  his  arms 
around  her  and  kissed  her  rapturously,  regardless  of  Miss 
Laura's  presence.  "  Now  you  can  go  to  New  York  as  soon 
as  you  like!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

Colonel  French  took  his  dead  to  the  North,  and  buried 
both  the  little  boy  and  the  old  servant  in  the  same  lot  with 
his  young  wife,  and  in  the  shadow  of  the  stately  mausoleum 
which  marked  her  resting-place.  There,  surrounded  by 
the  monuments  of  the  rich  and  the  great,  in  a  beautiful 
cemetery,  which  overlooks  a  noble  harbour  where  the  ships 
of  all  nations  move  in  endless  procession,  the  body  of  the 
faithful  servant  rests  beside  that  of  the  dear  little  child 
whom  he  unwittingly  lured  to  his  death  and  then  died  in 
the  effort  to  save.  And  in  all  the  great  company  of  those 
who  have  laid  their  dead  there  in  love  or  in  honour,  there 
is  none  to  question  old  Peter's  presence  or  the  colonel's 
right  to  lay  him  there.  Sometimes,  at  night,  a  ray  of  light 
from  the  uplifted  torch  of  the  Statue  of  Liberty,  the  gift 
of  a  free  people  to  a  free  people,  falls  athwart  the  white 
stone  which  marks  his  resting  place — fit  prophecy  and 
omen  of  the  day  when  the  sun  of  liberty  shall  shine  alike 
upon  all  men. 

When  the  colonel  went  away  from  Clarendon,  he  left  his 
affairs  in  Caxton's  hands,  with  instructions  to  settle  them 
up  as  expeditiously  as  possible.  The  cotton  mill  project 
was  dropped,  and  existing  contracts  closed  on  the  best 
terms  available.  Fetters  paid  the  old  note — even  he 
would  not  have  escaped  odium  for  so  bare-faced  a  rob- 
bery— and  Mrs.  Tread  well's  last  days  could  be  spent  in 
comfort  and  Miss  Laura  saved  from  any  fear  for  her  future, 
and  enabled  to  give  more  freely  to  the  poor  and  needy 
Barclay  Fetters  recovered  the  use  of  one  eye,  and  embit- 

290 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  291 

tered  against  the  whole  Negro  race  by  his  disfigurement, 
went  into  public  life  and  devoted  his  talents  and  his  edu- 
cation to  their  debasement.  The  colonel  had  relented 
sufficiently  to  contemplate  making  over  to  Miss  Laura  the 
old  family  residence  in  trust  for  use  as  a  hospital,  with  a 
suitable  fund  for  its  maintenance,  but  it  unfortunately 
caught  fire  and  burned  down — and  he  was  hardly  sorry. 
He  sent  Catherine,  Bud  Johnson's  wife,  a  consider- 
able sum  of  money,  and  she  bought  a  gorgeous  suit  of 
mourning,  and  after  a  decent  interval  consoled  herself 
with  a  new  husband.  And  he  sent  word  to  the  com- 
mittee of  coloured  men  to  whom  he  had  made  a 
definite  promise,  that  he  would  be  ready  to  fulfil  his 
obligation  in  regard  to  their  school  whenever  they 
should  have  met  the  conditions. 

One  day,  a  year  or  two  after  leaving  Clarendon,  the 
colonel,  in  company  with  Mrs.  French,  formerly  a  member 
of  his  firm,  now  his  partner  in  a  double  sense — was  riding 
upon  a  fast  train  between  New  York  and  Chicago,  upon 
a  trip  to  visit  a  western  mine  in  which  the  reorganised 
French  and  Company,  Limited,  were  interested,  he  noticed 
that  the  Pullman  car  porter,  a  tall  and  stalwart  Negro, 
was  watching  him  furtively  from  time  to  time.  Upon  one 
occasion,  when  the  colonel  was  alone  in  the  smoking-room, 
the  porter  addressed  him. 

"Excuse  me,  suh,"  he  said,  "I've  been  wondering  ever 
since  we  left  New  York,  if  you  wa'n't  Colonel  French  ?" 

"Yes,  I'm  Mr.  French — Colonel  French,  if  you  want 
it  so." 

"I  'lowed  it  must  be  you,  suh,  though  you've  changed 
the  cut  of  your  beard,  and  are  looking  a  little  older,  suh.  I 
don't  suppose  you  remember  me?" 

"I've   seen   you    somewhere,"    said    the   colonel — no 


292  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

longer  the  colonel,  but  like  the  porter,  let  us  have  it  so. 
"Where  was  it?" 

"I'm  Henry  Taylor,  suh,  that  used  to  teach  school  at 
Clarendon.     I  reckon  you  remember  me  now." 

"Yes,"  said  the  colonel  sadly,  "I  remember  you  now, 
Taylor,  to  my  sorrow.  I  didn't  keep  my  word  about 
Johnson,  did  I?" 

"Oh,  yes,  suh,"  replied  the  porter,  "I  never  doubted 
but  what  you'd  keep  your  word.  But  you  see,  suh,  they 
were  too  many  for  you.  There  ain't  no  one  man  can  stop 
them  folks  down  there  when  they  once  get  started." 

"And  what  are  you  doing  here,  Taylor?" 

"Well,  suh,  the  fact  is  that  after  you  went  away,  it  got 
out  somehow  that  I  had  told  on  Bud  Johnson.  I  don't 
know  how  they  learned  it,  and  of  course  I  knew  you 
didn't  tell  it;  but  somebody  must  have  seen  me  going  to 
your  house,  or  else  some  of  my  enemies  guessed  it — and 
happened  to  guess  right — and  after  that  the  coloured 
folks  wouldn't  send  their  children  to  me,  and  I  lost  my 
job,  and  wasn't  able  to  get  another  anywhere  in  the  State. 
The  folks  said  I  was  an  enemy  of  my  race,  and,  what  was 
more  important  to  me,  I  found  that  my  race  was  an  enemy 
to  me.  So  I  got  out,  suh,  and  I  came  No'th,  hoping  to 
find  somethin'  better.  This  is  the  best  job  I've  struck 
yet,  but  I'm  hoping  that  sometime  or  other  I'll  find  some- 
thing worth  while." 

"And  what  became  of  the  industrial  school  project?" 
asked  the  colonel.  "I've  stood  ready  to  keep  my  promise, 
and  more,  but  I  never  heard  from  you." 

"Well,  suh,  after  you  went  away  the  enthusiasm  kind 
of  died  out,  and  some  of  the  white  folks  throwed  cold 
water  on  it,  and  it  fell  through,  suh." 

When  the  porter  came  along,  before  the  train  reached 
Chicago,  the  colonel  offered  Taylor  a  handsome  tip. 


THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM  293 

"Thank  you,  suh,"  said  the  porter,  "but  I'd  rather  not 
take  it.  I'm  a  porter  now,  but  I  wa'n't  always  one,  and 
hope  I  won't  always  be  one.  And  during  all  the  time  I 
taught  school  in  Clarendon,  you  was  the  only  white  man 
that  ever  treated  me  quite  like  a  man — and  our  folks  just 
like  people — and  if  you  won't  think  I'm  presuming,  I'd 
rather  not  take  the  money." 

The  colonel  shook  hands  with  him,  and  took  his  address. 
Shortly  afterward  he  was  able  to  find  him  something 
better  than  menial  employment,  where  his  education 
would  give  him  an  opportunity  for  advancement.  Taylor 
is  fully  convinced  that  his  people  will  never  get  very  far 
along  in  the  world  without  the  good  will  of  the  white  peo- 
ple, but  he  is  still  wondering  how  they  will  secure  it.  For 
he  regards  Colonel  French  as  an  extremely  fortunate 
accident. 

And  so  the  colonel  faltered,  and,  having  put  his  hand  to 
the  plow,  turned  back.  But  was  not  his,  after  all,  the  only 
way?  For  no  more  now  than  when  the  Man  of  Sorrows 
looked  out  over  the  Mount  of  Olives,  can  men  gather 
grapes  of  thorns  or  figs  of  thistles.  The  seed  which  the 
colonel  sowed  seemed  to  fall  by  the  wayside,  it  is  true; 
but  other  eyes  have  seen  with  the  same  light,  and  while 
Fetters  and  his  kind  still  dominate  their  section,  other 
hands  have  taken  up  the  fight  which  the  colonel  dropped. 
In  manufactures  the  South  has  gone  forward  by  leaps  and 
bounds.  The  strong  arm  of  the  Government,  guided  by  a 
wise  and  just  executive,  has  been  reached  out  to  crush 
the  poisonous  growth  of  peonage,  and  men  hitherto  silent 
have  raised  their  voices  to  commend.  Here  and  there 
a  brave  judge  has  condemned  the  infamy  of  the  chain- 
gang  and  convict  lease  systems.  Good  men,  North  and 
South,  have  banded  themselves  together  to  promote  the 


294  THE  COLONEL'S  DREAM 

cause  of  popular  education.  Slowly,  like  all  great  social 
changes,  but  visibly,  to  the  eye  of  faith,  is  growing  up  a 
new  body  of  thought,  favourable  to  just  laws  and  their 
orderly  administration.  In  this  changed  attitude  of  mind 
lies  the  hope  of  the  future,  the  hope  of  the  Republic. 

But  Clarendon  has  had  its  chance,  nor  seems  yet  to 
have  had  another.  Other  towns,  some  not  far  from  it, 
lying  nearer  the  main  lines  of  travel,  have  been  swept  into 
the  current  of  modern  life,  but  not  yet  Clarendon.  There 
the  grass  grows  thicker  in  the  streets.  The  meditative 
cows  still  graze  in  the  vacant  lot  between  the  post-office 
and  the  bank,  where  the  public  library  was  to  stand.  The 
old  academy  has  grown  more  dilapidated  than  ever,  and 
a  large  section  of  plaster  has  fallen  from  the  wall,  carrying 
with  it  the  pencil  drawing  made  in  the  colonel's  school- 
days; and  if  Miss  Laura  Treadwell  sees  that  the  graves 
of  the  old  Frenches  are  not  allowed  to  grow  up  in  weeds 
and  grass,  the  colonel  knows  nothing  of  it.  The  pigs  and 
the  loafers — leaner  pigs  and  lazier  loafers — still  sleep  in 
the  shade,  when  the  pound  keeper  and  the  constable  are 
not  active.  The  limpid  water  of  the  creek  still  murmurs 
down  the  slope  and  ripples  over  the  stone  foundation 
of  what  was  to  have  been  the  new  dam,  while  the  birds 
have  nested  for  some  years  in  the  vines  that  soon  overgrew 
the  unfinished  walls  of  the  colonel's  cotton  mill.  White 
men  go  their  way,  and  black  men  theirs,  and  these  ways 
grow  wider  apart,  and  no  one  knows  the  outcome.  But 
there  are  those  who  hope,  and  those  who  pray,  that  this 
condition  will  pass,  that  some  day  our  whole  land  will  be 
truly  free,  and  the  strong  will  cheerfully  help  to  bear  the 
burdens  of  the  weak,  and  Justice,  the  seed,  and  Peace, 
the  flower,  of  liberty,  will  prevail  throughout  all  our 
borders. 


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